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THE IIAMILTONS; . 

OK, 



SUNSHINE IN STOEM 


BY 

COKA BEKKLEY. 


i ) •> 


New York : 

P. J. KENEDY, 

EXCELSIOR CA THOLIC PUBLISHING HOUSE, 
5 Barclay Street, 



Hmtkbed, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1356, by 
..^ES B. KIRKER 


Si the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of tbs United Btatea 
for the Southern District of New Y^rk. 


cSy trails : - • 

c- - - ^ 

h. . 1807' 


I 


PREFACE. 


This little book is intended to illustrate 
the strength, the beauty, and the purity of 
a true Catholic heart, whether in prosperity 
or in adversity ; and the noiseless, yet al- 
most irresistible influence it may acquire 
over those who come within its sphere. 
The author believes that the deep, tender 
piety of Catholicity, with its unselfishness, 
its childlike repose in the will of God, is 
fully equal to all the emergencies of ^be 
most eventful life. In the following pages 


4 


PREFACE. 


the author has attempted to show how the 
deepest piety is not incompatible with the 
most brilliant success in every sphere of 
life. If the attempt is a successful one, 
she will have attained her object ; if not, 
she is content to have this little work 
added to th3 great list of failures and dis- 
appointments with which the world is full 


CONTENTS. 


P/k(3B 

1. — Entrance into Society 7 

II. — Retrospect — “Fast” Acquaintances. 24 

III. — Xew- Year’s Eve 44 

lY. — A Profi.igate’s Promise &1 

V. — Something like Old Times 78 

VI. — A Present Refused ^8 

VII. — ^Sudden Retribution 110 

VIII. — Toe Crash — Adversity 130 

IX. — The Childhood Home 151 

X. — A Strange Visit. — Rita 172 

XI. — Hortense’s Letter 192 

OoNCI.USION 215 


THE HAMILTONS; 

OR, 

SUNSHINE IN STORM 


I. 

ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 

It was snowing when Margaret Hamilton 
put her head out of the stage window, as 
it stopped for a moment on one of the high 
hills just opposite Cincinnati^ to get a 
glimpse of her home. But the white flakes, 
falling thick and fast, spread a misty veil 
over the river, flowing far below, and the 
city beyond, and dimmed the outline of the 
distant hilLs, standing, like sentinels, around. 
In a little while she was at her father^s door. 


8 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


Her step-mother, in a gay dressing gown, 
ran down to meet her. 

Marguerite, I thought you would have 
been here yesterday. It is very awkward ! 
Of course you have nothing fit to wear, and 
the whole town will be here to-night/' 

She hurried her up stairs, just suffering 
her to pass into the handsome parlor, talk- 
ing rapidly all the time of something that 
seemed to be very momentous to her, but 
which Margaret did not at all understand. 
‘^Why on earth weie you not here yester- 
day ? I have the loveliest blue satin ready, 
but I am afraid it will not fit. Let me see 
what you have. Florine, unstrap that 
trunk/^ 

The French maid drew out one by one 
the simple Convent dresses, while Margaret 
asked, What does it all mean, mother ? 
How are papa and Fred 

Do not call me mother," said Mrs. 
Hamilton. am young enough yet to be 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


9 


taken for your sister. If you set the exam- 
ple, Fred will be ‘mothering" me, if only 
for the sake of tormenting me."" 

Margaret looked relieved. It had ever 
been a jiang to gi\ e the proud, cold Hor- 
tensia Hamilton, a name that belonged to 
one so different. “ Then I"]l call you Hor- 
tense. This is my gala costume."" She 
held up an unassuming white Swiss, and a 
wreath of delicate arti-ficials, but dropped 
them to laugh at the maid"s look of horror. 
“ Why must I dress to-night 

“ Because you are to make your dehut 
under my auspices,"" said Mrs. Hamilton. 
“ Don"t you remember I wrote to you about 
it ? Florine, we must try the blue satin."" 

“ Is it for me ? 0 Hortense ! I have 
not worn colors since — "" She hesitated, 
and bent down over her scattered wardrobe. 

“ Since your mother"s death,"" said Hor- 
tense, with the greatest indifference. “ But 
that was four yrars ago, and it is time to 


10 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


leave off your mourning. Ah 1 here it is.” 
Margaret suffered them to put the dress on 
her, but silently resolved not to wear it. 

How very lovely you are !” was the usu- 
ally undemonstrative Mrs. Hamilton's ex- 
clamation, as she smoothed the rich folds, 
and drew up the lace on the sleeves, to dis- 
play the beautifully moulded arms. She 
was, indeed, lovely ; her face radiant as the 
morning with its blushes, — her tender eyes 
suffused with the unshed tears her mother's 
name had called up, — and the white droop- 
ing shoulders, and fair round arm, looking 
but the fairer against the delicate-hued satin. 

iN.*\v I will leave you for a little while,” 
said Hortense, and as soon as Florine has 
finished my hair, she shall put up yours. 
Come, Florine. I'll send for you presently, 
Marguerite.” It was one of her affectations 
to call her by this French name ; Margaret, 
she said, was harsh, and its abbreviations 
too common. 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


11 


Hortense's presently proved to be an 
hour ; and before that had passed, Margaret 
was dressed, certainly looking purer in her 
simple white robe, closed at the throat with 
a jet cross, and girdled with black, than 
any of the overdressed belles who would 
grace Hortense’s parlor that night. The 
French maid bestowed upon her a very 
supercilious glance as she glided into Mrs, 
Hamilton's room, and Hortense herself 
looked unutterable scorn. Marguerite, 
you surely do not intend to make your ap- 
pearance in such a trim ! It is preposter- 
ous to cover up a neck like yours. Eeally, 
I will not go down with you, if you do not 
wear the blue." 

Oh yes, you will ; I do not think I'll 
prove a very great disgrace, for I expect to 
play wall flower," she answered, lightly. 

Indeed, you will do no such thing. 
You must talk. Marguerite, and laugh, foi 
it is very becoming to you. And so arn 


12 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


blushes/" she added, as Margaret's height- 
ened color told how unused she was to such 
lessons. 

“ But I cannot talk well to strangers, 
and I don't think my first attempt in so- 
ciety will be much of a triumph. Tell me 
about papa and Fred ; are they at home ? 
I want so much to see them." 

Do not make yourself uneasy about 
either, for it is not probable that they will 
be visible to-night," said Hortense, dryly. 

Mr. Hamilton, senior, dislikes gay assem- 
blages, and Mr. Hamilton, junior, cares for 

nothing but " Upon what his afiec- 

tions were placed she did not hear, for she 
was folded in her father's arms. 

Margaret ! my little Margaret, how you 
have grown !" He could say no more, but 
kept her in a close embrace, repeatedly 
kissing her. Hortense turned away to finish 
lier toilette, leaving the two to study the 
changes years had made in each. The face 


ENTRAKCE INTO SOCIETY. 


13 


that bent so tenderly over Margaret was 
not like that she had known in childhood ; 
there was a shadow on the brow, and a 
resolute pressure of the lips, that quite 
changed its expression. In a little while 
Mr. Hamilton turned to his wife, with a 
look that puzzled Margaret. Hortense, 
do excuse us to-night. Margaret, I am 
sure, would rather remain with me than go 
down to those heartless people you expect.^' 
As you please,'" she answered, coldly. 
“ I expect none but friends whom I have 
invited for Marguerite's sake, but if you do 
not wish your daughter to associate with 
them, I have nothing more to say." 

Your friends ! They are heartless, 
nevertheless," he said, with a smothered 
sigh, as he turned again to his child. 

They will make you like them, Margaret ! 
Do not leave me ! Stay here ! " 

How imploring his voice was ! Mar- 
garet had a childish curiosity to see the gay 


14 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


world of society, of which Hortense had 
given her such brilliant descriptions ; but 
his words filled her with misgiving. In- 
deed, papa, I would like to stay with you ; 
I have so much to say, so many things 
to — 

‘^Nonsense, Marguerite interrupted 
Hortense. Mr. Hamilton, you did a very 
foolish thing in sending her to a Catholic 
Convent, to have ner head filled with prudish 
notions, don't do another by keeping her out 
of society longer. Look, Marguerite, if that 
is a face to be hidden." 

She turned her around to the long mirror 
and stood beside her, while, with flushed 
cheeks, Margaret glanced at the reflection. 
There could not have been a greater con- 
trast than the two. Hortense's was a 
dark, colorless face, heavy in its repose, and 
only lighted by a pair of black eyes, that 
had been taught to flash or soften as their 
owner willed ; while Margaret's flushed and 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


15 


paled with every passing thought. At first 
glance she might have been pronounced the 
haughtiest of the two, for there was a 
stately grace in her finely developed figure, 
and the peculiar turn of her white slender 
whroat, which Horten se lacked ; but a mo- 
nent's study of the delicately chiselled fea- 
tures removed that impression. Theii 
dress, too, increased the contrast ; Hor* 
tensers gorgeous as an Indian queen's, and 
Margaret’s almost quakerish in its sim- 
plicity. Mr. Hamilton watched them si- 
lently until his wife placed her hand upon 
his arm, and with a smile that would have 
sent him to the end of the earth had she 
asked it, said : 

^’Now, Kobert, be sensible, and let me 
do as I please with Marguerite. I promise 
you that you will be proud of my manage- 
ment." 

It was almost the first time since their 
marriage that she had called him Ilobert, 


16 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


and that alone would have won him. Do 
not spoil her, Hortense ; do not make her 
worldly, and you can do what else you 
please.'^ 

She drew back with an assumed look of 
resentment. Then you think me worldly ; 
you think I would corrupt her. 0 Robert V 
He gently removed the hands she pressed 
upon her eyes. ‘‘ Do not misunderstand 
me, Hortense ; let us be friends, at least.'' 
She suffered herself to be petted into a 
good humor, and then went to Margaret, 
who was at the fire, watching them with a 
puzzled look. Let me put these camellias 
in your hair, Marguerite ; Etienne will ad- 
mire them." She knelt down ; and while 
Hortense placed the waxlike flowers in the 
coronal of hair resting on her white brow, 
asked. 

Who is Etienne ? 

Some one worth pleasing. Come, it is 
time to go down." They went, Hortense 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


17 


only lingering a moment to have a quiet 
laugh, and say in French to her maid, Am 
1 not a superb actress ? I shall have my 
})retty step-daughter in my own hands now/' 
In the parlor the child, as Hortense called 
her, could not be still. She went about the 
room fluttering over the leaves of books, 
and rearranging flowers that were too stifily 
disposed in their vases. Hortense in v 
tried to give her some lessons in etiquette ; 
she only sealed her lips with kisses and 
laughter, such a ringing, musical laugh as 
was seldom heard in those gorgeous rooms, 
and tripped away again, exclaiming she was 
too happy to do any thing but shout and 
make speeches. Happy, happy Margaret ! 
It seemed as if every pulsation of her heart 
w^as a whole life of joy, a joy so great that 
it could not be hidden away in its recesses, 
but stole up to her sweet young face and 
lit it with something akin to a halo, and 


18 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


rang out like a glad chime in every tone of 
her voice. 

You are the veriest child I ever knew/' 
said Hortense, with a curl of her haughty 
li^' I am afraid I shall never succeed in 
teacliing you presentable manners.'' 

Margaret put up her hands in comic 
d^stress^ In what am I so very childish 
Various things, too numerous to men- 
tion," she answered dryly, turning to the 
mirror between the windows, and settling 
the plumes in her hair. Really, Margaret, 
you are as wild as a deer. What has put 
you into such a gale ? " 

Gale ! " she repeated with a burst of 
laughter. Why this is ray ordinary mood, 
Mrs. Hamilton; I generally feel so light, it 
would not be hard for me to fancy that 
wings were growing on my shoulders. It 
has been so, ever since the day I was bap- 
tized. Do you know, papa," she continued, 
n)ore seriously, I was very much afraid 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


19 


when I wrote to ask your permission, you 
would object to my becoming a Catholic. 
Ah ! In what trembling suspense the days 
were passed until your answer came. Dear 
papa, I cannot thank you enough for your 
unreserved consent.’^ 

^^Even though you had not a chance to 
play heroism, and brave my displeasure, 
and finally wring an unwilling acquiescence 
from me by your lofty independence,'^ said 
her father, with a smile. Romantic young 
ladies generally like to be placed in predica- 
ments." 

Do they ? " she asked, gayly. Then 
I surely am not romantic, for I should have 
been very much troubled at any thing like 
a predicament. It was very sweet, papa, 
to know that while I was doing that which 
1 was sure would please God, I was not 
displeasing you." Again Hortense's lip 
curled, but she had no time for reproof, 
for hei’ guests were beginning to arrive, 


20 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


and Margaret's natural timidity somewhat 
quieted her flow of spirits. She stood be- 
side Hor tense with graceful, shrinking mod- 
esty, listening and talking to those who 
were presented. But later in the even- 
ing she went to a quiet corner, where her 
father had stationed himself, and while 
enjoying the gay scene before her, and 
watching the dancers in their many-colored 
costumes asked for her brother. A look of 
pain contracted Mr. Hamilton's brow as he 
answered hurriedly : 

He is very well, I believe. Yes, there 
he is." He came towards them with the 
graceful bearing that made him so like his 
sister, but she was shocked at his changed 
appearance, at the keen, cold gaze, and hag- 
gard cheeks that met her eyes. A vague 
fear that there was some cause for this, em- 
barrassed her for a moment. He seemed 
to divine her thoughts, and said with a sar- 
castic smile : 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


21 


Margaret, are you frightened that yon 
are so silent and stare at me so ? 

No, Fred ! You are certainly changed, 
but I suppose I am too,"" she said, laughing 
at the momentary feeling that had overcome 
her. 

Yes, for the better. All the men in the 
room looked envious as I kissed you. Look ! 
There goes Lamar, who is just now the 
lion of Hoi tense"s set. You will rave about 
him like the rest of course."" 

No, Fm not in the habit of raving 
about people. Who is he ? "" 

A rich Southerner whom all the Cin- 
cinnati girls are trying to catch. Very use- 
lessly, I think, for I know by Hortense"s 
manoeuvres, that she intends you to be the 
victor, and bear off the prize. He is visit- 
ing her, so you will have a fair chance of 
playing off your attractions."" 

Before her blush had faded, Hortense 
advanced leaning on Mr. Laniar"s arm, and 


22 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


introduced him as the Etienne she had been 
speaking of that evening. She was too much 
confused by Fred's last remark to bear any 
thing for a few moments, but as self-pos- 
session returned, she ventured to glance at 
her companion. He had just such a face 
as she fancied might have belonged to Igna- 
tius Loyola, before grace had subdued his 
fiery nature. It was dark and glowing 
with the hot blood of the South, the magnifi- 
cent head upraised with the pride of con- 
scious intellect, and the deep-set eyes look- 
ing as if the lightning of anger might often 
flash from their depths, though, now that 
they were bent down upon her, the heavy 
Spanish lashes shaded, and gave them a 
peculiar tender expression. It was not 
long before Margaret was listening to him 
with eager pleasure, and talking with a 
frankness that astonished herself. He 
seemed to have the talent of drawing out 
her opin’on upon subjects most people would 


ENTRANCE INTO SOCIETY. 


23 


have thought her unacquainted with, and 
unconscious that she was attracting atten- 
tion, and exciting envy, she spent the whole 
evening at Mr. Lamar's side instead of 
dancing. Fred smiled significantly as he 
glanced at her animated face, and whis- 
pered in her ear, Why, little sis, you can 
out-general Hortense any day.^^ It recalled 
her to herself, and all Etienne's endeavors 
to sustain the conversation were vain. 


II. 

EETROSPECT FAST^' ACQUAINTANCES. 

Margaret had not been long at home 
before she discovered that it was not a very 
happy one for her father. She was often 
pained by the look of comfortless sorrow 
that seemed to be settling on his face, and 
then almost unconsciously she would pic- 
ture to herself the quiet homelike rooms of 
the old house, and a fragile form gliding 
about in the soft twilight, and loving hands 
drawing up the great arm-chair, and ar- 
ranging the study lamp, and the dear old 
books. Her eyes would grow dim as she 
thought of her mother's wan cheeks flush- 


acquaintances. 


25 


ing at the sound of her father's footsteps, 
and her vain endeavors to choke down a 
cough, that she might sing the songs he 
loved. Those were happy days indeed, 
and Margaret could not help sighing that 
the present was not more like the past. 
Mr. Hamilton's second wife was cold, 
haughty woman, and as heartless a schemer 
as ever did credit to the world's training. 
She had once said, I would rather die 
than be poor,'* and well she played her 
cards to win the wealth she coveted. She 
knew the Hamiltons during the life of the 
first wife, and what little of affection there 
was in her nature was given to the warm- 
hearted, impulsive little Margaret ; and 
after her mother's death, she took charge of 
her, until Mr. Hamilton's grief had some- 
what subsided. Cutting remarks and sneer- 
ing surmises as to her motives were not 
wanting, but Hortense was very heedless of 
them. Perhaps they were unjust ; she 


3 


26 “ FAST ACQUAINTANCES. 

might have been for once false to her na- 
ture, but people doubted it. Her most in- 
timate friends, or rather associates, for she 
had no friends, could read nothing in the 
haughty indifference with which she veiled 
her intentions. Her very looks were that. 
Never'''was there a more impenetrable face 
when she chose it to be so, and no wonder, 
for she had spent her life in training it, and 
only the thin lip, that would sometimes 
curl in spite of her, betrayed her utter con- 
tempt for the opinions of others, provided 
her own ends were gained. 

Three years passed,' and Hortense, as 
Kobert Hamilton's wife, had wealth enough 
at her command to further any schemes 
her busy brain might invent. It was no 
wonder that Mr. Hamilton was disappointed 
in this second marriage. His happiness 
was centred in home, and Hortense had 
never cared for any thing but society. It 
was only in a crowd that her talents for de- 


acquaintances. 27 

ception had full play, that her haughty will 
could gain the homage it craved. In the 
ball-room, and amid the votaries of fashion, 
she reigned supreme. Mrs. Hamilton's 
dress and manners, and beauty, were quoted 
as standards on all occasions ; and man}" 
a heart-ache she had caused, were but 
marks of her superior intellect," as it was 
termed. After the first months of their 
marriage, her husband seldom went out 
with her, unless Hortense condescended to 
invite him. Strange that with her glariug 
faults she had obtained unbounded influ- 
ence over him ; and if sometimes his na- 
ture revolted against the ignoble bondage, 
an assumption of tenderness on her part 
was sure to subdue him. She led him as 
she willed, even into the fashionable dissi- 
pation he so detested. He had been re- 
served and cautious all his life in his inter- 
course with society, not because he had 
suffered any wrong from it, but because his 


28 


acquaintances. 


tastes ran in a different channel, and with 
his children and his books he was content. 
The first were not much solace now, for 
Frederick, the eldest, had fallen into other 
hands, and Margaret was at school. Mrs. 
Hamilton, when dying, had implored her 
husband to place Margaret with the sisters 
at Nazareth until she was grown. She was 
not a Catholic, but one of those gentle, love- 
able women, who are most apt to yield to 
Catholic influence. Unfortunately for her 
she was not placed within its reach, and 
yet when about to leave the world, some- 
thing whispered that the Convent walls 
would interpose between Margaret and 
many an evil if she could place her within 
them. And so Eobert promised that it 
should be done ; and when the cofflri had 
hid for ever from sight his wife's meek face, 
and the clods were resting heavily upon it, 
he took his child to the sisters. She was 
very loath to stay at first, but her heart 


acquaintances. 


29 


was soon won. Dear old Nazareth ! Many 
a time in after years, when sorrows gathered 
thick around her, her heart went back to 
the quiet, happy place, and grew faint with 
longing to dwell there once more. 

Now that her own fate was settled, Hor- 
tense grew restless for an object to gain, 
and determined that Margaret should be 
sent for. She had given great promise 
of beauty, and Mrs. Hamilton was sure she 
would create a sensation, and make a splen- 
did marriage ; at least, she resolved that all 
her own art should be put in play for that 
purpose. How many airy castles she was 
never to inhabit were reared for the uncon- 
scious Margaret ! Her earnest entreaties 
to remain a year longer were not to be with- 
stood ; and as she was but fifteen, Hortense 
yielded. It was a very unusual thing. 
During the last year of her stay at Naza- 
reth, Margaret became a Catholic ; and al- 
though the old Convent grew dearer after 


30 acquaintances. 

that, she obeyed her father's summorja 
home. But it was not to the home of her 
childhood that she was welcomed ; that, 
with its low quaint rooms, and overshadow- 
ing trees, had been exchanged for a more 
costly dwelling in the fashionable part of 
the city. For a while after her arrival she 
was kept in a perfect whirl of pleasure, and 
young and unsuspicious as she was, it could 
scarce be that she would not enjoy it. The 
world was very bright and beautiful to her, 
for she saw it through the soft atmosphere 
that surrounded herself ; looked upon it 
only as the reflection of heaven, and so she 
moved in it, joyous and untroubled ; her 
purity and simplicity unsullied by its foul 
breath, — her heart unwavering in its alle- 
giance to truth. But by and by a sense of 
weariness and dissatisfaction began to mar 
her pleasure. She did not discover the 
hypocrisy which fair exteriors veil, nor the 
euftering hidden under the mask of mirth, 


FAST ACQUAINTANCES. 31 

but fervent and true-hearted in her catho- 
licity, she could not hut feel that she was 
robbing God of much time devoted to friv- 
olous amusements. And then her father 
seldom accompanied Mrs. Hamilton and 
herself, and she could not hear the idea of 
leaving him alone in the long winter even- 
ings. She was glad when Advent came, 
that she might have a good excuse for re- 
maining with him. Hortense at first re- 
monstrated, and tried to shake her resolu- 
tion of giving up parties for a month at 
least, but was quickly silenced when she 
discovered that Mr. Lamar, who had been 
her guest ever since Margaret’s arrival, 
spent most of his time with her. They 
were very good friends from the beginning, 
but Margaret, in her simplicity, never 
dreamed that she was encouraging a deeper 
feeling. But it was really so, and Hortense 
was well pleased that for once her art 
would not be requisite to bring a suitor to 


32 “ FAST '' ACQUAINTANCES 

the point. All that was necessary for her 
to do was to keep others from interfering 
with them ; and she felt quite sufficient for 
that task, much as he was sought after. 
He was wealthy, intellectual, and descended 
from one of the old families, who had emi- 
grated to Louisiana when the famous Mis- 
sissippi scheme was filling France with gor- 
geous dreams, that were doomed to disap-» 
pointment ; and Mrs. Hamilton determined 
that Margaret should accept him : whethei 
she loved him or not was quite a secondary 
matter. 

In all this time Margaret saw little 
of her brother, except at table, and then it 
was evident he was not a favorite in the 
family. There was a contstant warfare of 
keen, sarcastic words, waged between him 
and Mrs. Hamilton, and his father always 
wore a cloudy, half-angry, half-sorrowful look 
when he was present. Margaret in vain 
^ried to fathom the cause of all this. It was 


/ 


FAST ACQUAINTANCES. 


83 


from Frederick himself she first learnt it. 
He followed her to her room one day after 
! dinner, and carefully closing the door, sat 
: down by the lire. 

I Margaret playfully pushed up a stool for 
i his feet, and offered to go in search of cigars. 
: For you know, Fred, this is the first time 

I you have honored me with a visit, and 1^11 
‘ put up with any thing, even tobacco smoke, 
to keep you.'' He did not speak, but sat 
moodily gazing into the fire. 

Has your lordship any special message 
to deliver ? Do not, I pray you, be entirely 
overwhelmed by the majesty of our royal 
presence." 

He pushed the stool away, and grasping 
her slender waist until she almost cried aloud 
with pain, exclaimed hoarsely, Margaret, 
cease your child's play. I have come to you 
as my last resource. I am ruined, and you 
must help me." There was such bitter 


34 


acquaintances^ 


emphasis in his voice^ such a fierce light in 
his eyes, that she was frightened. 

Help you ! How, brother ? '' 

How pale you are ! Sit down, I did 
not mean to frighten you. I must have 
five hundred dollars by night, and you are 
the only person who can get it for me. 

Will you do it 

“ How ? What for ? stammered Mar- 
garet, more bewildered still. 

Don't faint and I'll tell you. You shall 

know the whole affair by " He uttered 

an oath that made Margaret spring to her 
feet, and cover her face with her hands. 

0 brother ! brother ! This is awful. 
Never speak so again." 

He laughed scornfully. What a tender- 
hearted little puss it is ! Why, I was a 
whole hour storming at Hortense this morn- 
ing, and she only looked at me with those 
great, passionless eyes of hers, until I was 
mad with rage." He gnashed his teeth on 


acquaintances. 


35 


the \ery remembrance of it. humbled 
myself to her, but she would not have pity/' 
Margaret was weeping bitterly, and he went 
on in a quieter voice : Last night I gam^ 
bled away every cent I had in the world ; 
and old Hamilton (he never called him 
father now) has positively refused to give 
me any thing ; but you can get whatever 
you ask, Maggie/' 

0 Frederick ! brother ! how could you 
do so ? " she asked with choking sobs. It 
is an awful sin ; you will never do it again, 
will you ? Tell me it is the first and last 
time." He was silent ; and then with a 
startled look, as a sudden conviction that he 
had long been leading a gambler's life 
flashed upon her, she seized his hands : 
‘‘ Promise, dear brother, that you will do 
no more ; promise 1 ] " 

What would you have me do ? " he 
asked pettishly, I cannot desert my friends, 
I cannot give up my only amusement." 


36 


acquaintances. 


She was quiet now from excessiv^e emo- 
tion, and sat down beside him. Tell me, 
Frederick, how you came to love this 
amusement, as you call it. It is such a 
perilous one.'' 

There was no resisting the gentle tender^ 
ness of her voice and manner, and after a 
moment's pause he said : Yes ! I will tell 
you, Margaret. But do not start, do not 
hate me for my wickedness. If Hortense 
had never darkened my path, we might all 
be happy now, as. we were long ago. Do 
you not see, Margaret, that she has brought 
misery into the house, that she it is who has 
cast a blight over all our fair prospects ? I 
loved that woman once, Margaret, with all my 
soul I loved her, and, base hypocrite that 
she is, she told me that I alone of all the 
world possessed her heart j that was when 
you first went to Nazareth, and I was but 
twenty, young and foolish enough to be- 


acquaintances. 


37 


lieve her artful protestations. But by and 
by my father — curses on — 

A little white hand was placed upon his 
lips, that the fearful words might not come 
forth, and the soft, clear voice of his sister, 
lulled the rising storm of passion. 

‘‘Well! well!'' he continued, “let it 
pass. He came to Hortense with hig 
wealth, and his high position, and she, 
woman-like, deserted me for him. Wealth 
was placed within her g^rasp, and she could 
not wait until I made her a fortune, but 
took the easiest way of making sure of one." 
He laughed bitterly, while Margaret, stifling 
her own emotion, replied, 

“But, Fred, this is not what I asked. 
How did you — " 

“ Become a gambler," he said fiercely, as 
she hesitated. “ Don't mince your words, 
Margaret. Do you think I could stand 
quietly by, and see her marry another, and 
that other, my father ? It would have 


38 


^^fast" acquaintances. 


driven me mad, — I sometimes believe I 
am mad now, — and so I went about reck^ 
less of life and reputation, and fell in with 
companions who first led me astray. It was 
a fascinating excitement from the very be- 
ginning, and drove away the thought of 
Hortense's perfidy ; and now it has grown 
a necessity with me. I cannot choose, but 
indulge my passion for play.^^ 

‘‘ Oh yes, you can, brother,’^ she said, 
quietly. Leave all these bad associates. 
Stay with papa and me. Ah, if Hortense 
is what you say she is, he is surely to be 
pitied, and we should at least be a comfort 
to him. Why should you do wrong, dear 
brother, because she has wronged you ? 
Leave judgment to the God of heaven ; let 
lier enjoy, if she can, the wealth she has so 
ignobly bought, and you and I, Fred, can 
be so happy together. Promise me that 
you will gamble no more ! '' 

‘‘ I cannot, Margaret. I could not remain 


FAST ACQUAINTANCES. 39 

long beneath the roof that shelters her, 
fihe would set me wild with her cold, prim 
looks, and cutting words. You do not 
know Hortense Hamilton. She is a very 
demon in woman's form.'' 

You are pleased to be complimentary, 
sir," said a calm, clear voice, behind them. 
Neither had seen Mrs. Hamilton enter. 

I had thought you capable of such 
meanness as to disturb this child with your 
passion, I should have prevented the possi- 
bility of your doing so." 

His face grew livid with rage. She is 
my sister, and I will come to her when I 
choose. Who are you, that you should make 
terms in this house ? An upstart, who 
married for money ; a base — " Again 
Margaret's hand was on his lips, and her 
voice, soft and caressing, drowned his, harsh 
and angry as it was. Hortense, please 
leave us ; I want to speak to my brother." 

‘‘No, I shall stay until the gentleman 


40 


‘^fast"' acquaintances. 


leaves. I do not wish him to unmask him- 
self completely to you ; it would alarm 
you."' 

Unmask you, Hortense, you mean/* 
he replied, with his usual quiet sarcasm of 
manner. Well ! be it so. Margaret, will 
you do what I have asked 

I cannot, unless you promise that it 
will be the last time. Brother, you do 
not know what you are doing. Have you 
no regard for your own soul ? Oh, say that 
you will never commit this sin again."" 

I don"t know that my soul is of much 
consequence,"" he said, roughly ; but if 
you will get the money I want, I will pro- 
mise any thing and every thing."" 

Even to desert your bad companions, 
and give up gambling 

Yes, yes ! any thing,"" he said. 

A sudden light flashed over her face, 
and the tears that had been startled back 


“fast’' acquaintances. 


41 


to their source dimmed her eyes, as she 
hirned to go to her father. 

“ Frederick, there is little use in quarrel- 
ling with me,” said Mrs. Hamilton, when 
slie was gone. “ You know very well^ — al- 
though you may sneer at the idea — you 
know that I am mistress here ; that I 
could this very moment prevent Mr. Hamil- 
ton from giving Margaret the money you 
want. It would be better for you to court 
rny friendship.” 

“ Would it ? ” he asked. “ Pardon me, 
Mrs. Hamilton ; I was so unsuccessful when 
I last paid my court to you,, that I am 
afraid to try again.” 

“ Do not be for ever harping on the past,” 
she continued, heedless of his ironical inter- 
ruption. “ It can do no good. I bear you 
no ill-will, and if you will trust me I can 
help you.” 

He paused a moment, and then asked 
how. “ I believe you have no objection to 


42 


fast'" acquaintances. 


wealth/' she said, with a cold smile ; ^‘and 
I believe I can help you to a fortune, but 
you must take a wife with it. You know 
ray cousin, Alice Dalton, has been left 
quite a handsome fortune. She will be of 
age next spring ; and if you only set to 
work in earnest, you can gain her affec- 
tions. She's a foolish little thing, and 
vows she will only marry for love ; and then 
her purse will be at your service." 

You think we can manage it ? " he ex- 
claimed. Hortense ! you are the clever- 
est woman in Cincinnati. Well ! here is 
my hand. I think we must be friends now, 
as we are both sworn to play the same part. 
I'm not going to fall in love with her, if I 
do act the lover." 

Very well ! do that, and I will manage 
the rest." 

How much to her own and Frederick s 
satisfaction she did manage it, poor Alice 
Dalton found to her cost. Hortense was 


FAST ACQUAINTANCES. 


43 


(C 


gone when Margaret returned, and silently 
placed a check in her brother’s hand. 

What did the old miser say ? You did 
not tell him it was for me 

Certainly I did/’ she answered, with a 
look of amazement. would not dream 
of asking so much for myself. He gave it 
willingly when I told him yoru would never 
have occasion to ask for more.” 

Margaret Hamilton ! What a piece of 
simplicity you are ! Hortense will have to 
drill you well before she teaches you to dis- 
trust people.” It was all the thanks she got. 
He went away with a harsh, grating laugh, 
while she sat down to think of all she had 
heard. 


new-year's eve. 


Margaret's spirits were a little subdued 
after her brother's revelation, but they soon 
rose again. She was too unsuspicious to 
think he was deceiving her ; and after a 
hearty burst of sorrow at the foot of the 
altar — for to the true friend ever there she 
carried every pain and pleasure — the happy 
feeling, so habitual to her, returned. She 
was a very child basking in the sunshine, 
and only wondering that it should be so 
bright. She lived in a kind of joyful 
amazement at her own happiness, at God's 
infinite mercy and goodness in having made 


new-year's eve. 


45 


her a Catholic ; and it was this that gave 
her character such an incomprehensible 
cast to those around her. How could 
Hortense understand it, or even her father, 
good and gentle as he was, or Fred, with 
his recklessness ? This was the only thought 
that troubled her in the least, the certainty 
that they did not know now, and the possi- 
bility that they might never knovr, the 
truth. But wdth the perfect trust of Love 
she left it in the hands of God, only doing 
her utmost toward the attainment of her 
wishes by the sweet persuasion of example, 
and the most earnest prayers. Sometimes 
she feared that Frederick was pursuing his 
old course, but that fear was too vague to 
disturb her serenity much. 

It was the last night of the year ; and 
worn out with a month's unceasing dissipa- 
tion, Hortense signified her intention of re- 
maining home. The curtains were closed, 
the fire blazing cheerily, and for the first 


46 


new-year's eve. 


time this winter, Mr. Hamilton and his 
family were gathered together around the 
hearth. Alice Dalton, too, was there, and 
Fred assumed an air of devotion he was far 
from feeling. Hortense smiled contemp- 
tuously as she lay amid ‘the pillows of the 
lounge, for she saw through the mask he 
was wearing. She knew very well that he 
was about to do that which he had so bit- 
terly condemned in her — marry for money ; 
that affection for the pale, delicate-looking 
girl, who listened with such earnestness to 
his whispered words, had little to do with 
it. Margaret was industriously embroider- 
ing a stole she intended presenting to the 
bishop, while Mr. Lamar watched her fingers 
as they rapidly drew in and out the brilliant 
silks. She was very quiet that evening, 
for she was going to communion in the 
morning, and her own thoughts were plea- 
sant companions. Etienne guessed as much 
from her smiling down look, and contented 


new-year’s eve. 


47 


himBelf with studying the bright face that 
was daily growing dearer to him. 

“ You are all very entertaining, I am 
sure,” said Hortense from her lounge. 

What are you dreaming of, Margue- 
rite.?” 

^^Not dreaming at all, but thinking of 
something deliciously real.” 

Indeed ! And what may that be ? 
Etienne, ask her ; she is more in the habit 
of obeying you than me.” 

I don’t think I shall obey either just 
now. Papa, what are you reading that 
makes you look so sober ? ” He was too al)- 
stracted to hear her, and presently got up 
with a weary look, and went out. Margaret 
glanced at the book he had been bending 
over, and, to her surprise, found that it was 
a ledger, filled with long lines of figures. 
There was another long silence ; Margaret 
busily sewing, and Alice sorting her silks, 
that she might work the faster. 


48 


new-year’s eve. 


“ Where do you suppose we will all be 
by this time next year ? ” asked Frederick, 
alir aptly rising and going over to Hor tense. 

Are you asking me ? ” said Mrs. Ham- 
ilton. I think I’ll be exactly where I am 
now, — that is, if I am just as tired as now. 
Alice will be married, and Marguerite ! — 
really, my dear, I have not an idea what 
is to become of you and Mr. Lamar.” 

Have not you ? That is very wonder- 
ful,” said Margaret, with a laugh, ^^consid- 
ering you are such a seer.” 

‘‘ I can tell where I would like to be,” 
said Etienne, glancing at Margaret, and 
then to Hortense. Margaret was serious 
again : I don’t know,’^ she said, as if 

talking to herself, but I think every one 
must feel a little sad at these times : don’t 
you, Mr. Lamar 

Why do you ask Etienne alone ? ’\ said 
Fred, with his sneering laugh. I suppose 
you think Hortense and I have caught 


new-year's eve 


49 


stony-heartedness from each other. I 
lieve we are a little flinty, are we not, Hor- 
tense ? " 

Ask Alice what she thinks of you. It 
makes no difference what I am." 

Miss Dalton's pale cheeks flushed for a 
moment, as she answered in a quick, low 
tone, Oh, do not ask my opinion, — you 
might think it presumptuous." Mrs. Ham- 
ilton glanced at Frederick, but her cold, 
keen look, was returned with interest. 

If all my New-year's Eves were spent 
as pleasantly as this," said Mr. Lamar, I 
should think myself very happy." 

‘‘ Would you ? " answ^ered Margaret. 

Yes, it is pleasant. But then I think we 
all have something to regret in the past. 
There are always some misdeeds to mar the 
perfection we meant the year to bring forth. 
Always some evil done that lays like a dark 
stain on the fair fabric we intended to be so 
spotless ; some unaccomplished good that 


50 new-yeak's eve. 

breaks the warp, and leaves an unfilled 
space. Do you not feel that 

^^Yes, but not in the way you do/’ he 
answered. Disgust for the self-deception 
almost all people practise, for the ungener- 
ous weakness that shrinks from the accom- 
plishment of resolutions made in some 
moment of enthusiasm, has quite as great 
a share as sorrow in my feelings.^’ 

But that is pride,” she said, with a 
quick decision of manner that was natural 
to her when talking of any thing u])on 
which her own opinions were perfectly set- 
tled. You know we ought never to be 
astonished at any amount of weakness in 
ourselves, but rather wonder that we do no 
worse.” 

Are you going to open a new school of 
Theology, Madge ? ” asked her brother. I 
have some idea of studying, and might gain 
a degree under your learned tutorship.” 

Mr. Lamar’s grave voice was musical 


NEW-YEARS EVE. 


51 


after that hard, mocking one : That must 
be a very hard lesson to learn. I am afraid, 
Miss Hamilton, you will not find many to 
agree with you on that point.'" 

You are mistaken. All Catholics agree 
with me, or rather," she added, with a blush 
at her apparent presumption, I agree 
with all Catholics. If the church did not 
teach it, perhaps it would be a hard lesson 
to learn ; but our good Mother makes it 
easy enough." 

he asked, with no little in- 
terest. 

How ! " she repeated, the flush rising 
in her cheeks, and her fingers ceasing their 
quick play. By showing us what we really 
are when guided by our own evil natures, 
as all must be who are deserted by grace." 

But it is said that self-confidence is a 
mark of true greatness," said Etienne, gen- 
tly ; that the timid and distrustful are 
ever unsuccessful." 


52 


NEW-YEAR S EVE. 


Yes, in worldly affairs,*' she said, with 
a slight ti’emor in her voice ; in buying 
and selling, and hoarding up wealth. But 
the greatness which self-reliance alone makes 
is not true greatness. On the contrary, 
that pride which boasts of its own sufficiency 
is just what will soonest unthrone the intel- 
lect, and corrupt the heart. Show me, 
among all who have lived, a nobler being 
than St. Peter ; and yet, in a moment of 
proud self-reliance, he fell. ^ Though all 
should desert thee, I never will forsake 
thee,' were his words to his Lord ; and one 
little hour later he swore that he knew not 
the man. And look at the countless host 
of apostates of all ages and climes, — men 
drinking in, as from a full fountain, the 
knowledge and beauty, and truth of Catho- 
licity, — deserting their God, forgetting all 
his tears and his sufferings, laughing to 
scorn the undying love that keeps Him still 
uj'on earth wLile reigning in heaven ; 


NEW-YEAP/S EVE. 


53 


trampling upon the very blood that criiU' 
soned Calvary's summit, when they loosen 
their hold upon the hand that can never 
lead astray, — turn from the heart that can 
never deceive, to lean upon their own weak 
will and paltry strength. Oh, we may well 
distrust ourselves, when we know these 
things ; we may well wonder at the Good- 
ness which, almost in spite of us, so sustains 
us that we do not fall with them." 

She liad risen up in her excitement, and 
stood now with the full light streaming on 
her, and the rich materials of her work 
scattered at her feet. Pale, quiet Alice 
Dalton sat with clasped hands gazing at 
Margaret, as if she was some bright vision 
of another world, and Etienne silently gath- 
ered up her silks, and placed them in her 
hand 

Well," said Frederick, ^Hhat's a pretty 
long speecli, and a pretty sober one, too, for 


NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 


54 

you, Madge. Whal do you think of her for 
a poetess, Hortense ? 

For a moment Margaret was embarrassed 
by her own warmth, and said, with a smile, 

I did not intend to say so much, but you 
know it is all true. My stole is finished, and 
1 will say good night. I wish you all a 
very, very happy New Year. Come, Alice, 
let us go upstaii's.” Etienne opened the 
door for them, and as Margaret passed out, 
held her ofiered hand for a moment in both 
of his. Some words seemed trembling on 
his lips, but he released her without speak- 
ing them. 

An hour later, while Margaret was pac- 
ing to and fro, saying her rosary, Mrs. Ham- 
ilton sent for her. 

Hortense was sitting at her toilette, 
brushing her long, black hair, — a half hour's 
labor, — but it was finished at last ; the deli- 
cate lace fell gracefully over the knot be- 


new-year's eve. 


65 


hind, and loops of pale, blue ribbon, confined 
the bandeaux in front. 

^^Well, Hortense," said Margaret, I 
have been patience personified, waiting to 
know what I was sent for, I can't see the 
use of such elaborate night toilettes as you 
make. I would be dreadfully tired if I 
took all that trouble with my hair. See 
how quickly I manage it." She loosened 
the long, bright coils, and gathering them 
all together, fastened them back with her 
comb. 

Such careless arrangements may do for 
people of your style, but they would be un- 
becoming to me." 

Her tone reminded Margaret unplea- 
santly of a speech she had heard her make 
when she was a child. Hortense, then in 
her first, or second season, and very much 
admired, was taken ill ; and her first request 
was, that if she died, and did not look well 


new-year's eve. 


56 

in her coffin^ that it might be closed. ^ 0 
vanity of vanities.^' 

Margaret/' said Hortense, I have sent 
for you to give you an opportunity of mak- 
ing me your confidant. You will have to 
do so in the end, and why not now ? " 

Confidant of what exclaimed Mar- 
garet, with a look of surprise. I have no 
secrets to tell." 

Have you not consented to be Madame 
Etienne Lamar.?" She laughed merrily. 

No ; I have not even thought of it. It 
will be time enough when I am asked." 

Hortense wheeled suddenly around, and 
fixed her keen eyes upon Margaret's face ; 
but it was perfectly guileless in its expres- 
sion, although the color was mounting tc 
the very brow. ^^Then Etienne has not 
proposed ! Marguerite, if you had half wit, 
you would see that he is going to do it." 

She was silent a moment, and then an- 
swered gravely : I am very sorry if hu 


new-year's eve. 


57 


has any such intentions. Hortense, do not 
let him do it. You must prevent him.'" 

Indeed, I will do no such thing ! Mar- 
guerite, you really do not intend to refuse 
him.?'" 

I must, Hortense ; I cannot do other- 
wise." 

And why not, pray ? " she asked, in no 
amiable tone. Setting aside his wealth 
and high position, he is handsome and in- 
tellectual enough to captivate a romantic 
fancy, such as you have. Even if you don't 
care for him, you should not let such a good 
offer escape." She shook her head. It is 
not that ; but I could not accept him, even 
if I suffered myself to fall in love with him, 
as you call it." 

Marguerite, you are certainly the most 
incomprehensible girl I ever knew. What 
possible necessity can there be for keeping 
that rebellious organ in subjection, if it is 
disposed to place itself in Etienne's charge." 


58 


new-year's eve. 


Because/' Margaret said slowly^ and 
without heeding her disagreeable manner, 
he is not of my faith ; and I cannot dis- 
obey the church. I cannot place my own 
soul in jeopardy/' 

Hortense knew that it would be impossi- 
ble to move her while she maintained that 
position. Impulsive, and yielding to affec- 
tion in other things, there was in matteis 
touching her religion too high a principle 
guiding her to be easily moved. But she 
was unwilling, now that the subject was 
broached, to leave it until she was sure 
Margaret would do as she wished. 

“ Marguerite," she said presently, with 
great apparent sincerity, ^^you know it is 
no interest of mine whether you ever marry 
or not ; it is only for your own sake that I 
wish this match. You will not easily make 
so fine a one ; and, besides, you have en- 
couraged Etienne to such a degree that he 
has almost a right to demand you." 


new-year's eve. 


59 


Encouraged 1 " she repeated, in un- 
bounded astonishment. Never, intention- 
ally. Indeed, Hortense, I could not do 
that." 

‘‘ I declare your simplicity is unbearable," 
exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, throwing off her 
assumed manner. ‘^What else can it be 
called but encouragement ? You have talked 
to him when no one else could draw more 
than monosyllables from you. You have 
received his attentions in the most public 
manner, and with pleasure too, or your 
sparkling looks belied you. What on earth 
has religion to do in the matter ? " 

It is just because it will have so little 
that I most object. 0 Hortense ! do not 
speak of it, I am really sorry that I have 
unconsciously given Mr. Lamar any cause 
to think of me as his wife, and I shall take 
care not to do so again. He will forget this 
fancy soon." 

She would listen to nothing more, but 


60 


new-year's eve. 


went to her room, a little sachlened by the 
part she had been so unwictingly playing. 
That passed soon in thoug-K^^of the coming 
inorning's happbv>^s . 


IV. 


A profligate's promise. 

The winter was passing slowly away, and 
Etienne still lingered in Cincinnati. Mar- 
garet regretted very much that Mrs. Ham- 
ilton had spoken to her of his fancy — she 
could not help thinking it hut that — for 
herself. She never met him now that she 
did not think of it ; and the fear of giving 
encouragement made her very reserved, and 
quite changed her happy, graceful bearing 
toward him. There was no more harmless 
jesting between them ; and the long, plea- 
sant morning readings, which had been such 
sources of enjoyment and mental improve- 


6 


62 


A profligate’s promise. 


ment, were quite neglected. Yes, she wag 
very sorry ; the more so, because she couW 
see so little reason for the change, so little 
cause for the constant watchfulness she 
almost felt bound to keep upon her words 
and actions. Etienne still spent his morn- 
ings in the library reading, and his evenings 
with her, but apparently without noticing 
her increasing reserve. Only once, when 
she entered the library, singing softly to 
herself, as she was in the habit of doing, 
and retreated with a deep blush when she 
saw him seated at the table, he said, half in 
jest, half in earnest^ Have I been doing 
any thing of late to frighten you ? 1 do 

not like my little friend to shun me in this 
way.^’ 

Margaret was sure that something of 
deeper import than Hortense believed was 
engrossing his thoughts, and yet she could 
not be the gay, unsuspicious Margaret of a 
month before. She was beginning to see 


A profligate's promise 


63 


the miserable cheatery of the wuj '^ that 
had at first looked so fair and beariviful ; 
beginning to get glimpses of the dark 
depths in human hearts that were never lit 
by generous feelings, or lofty impulses ; 
growing a little less credulous in worldly 
matters, and fixing her heart more firmly 
than ever upon purer and holier things. It 
was well for her that she did this; well 
that she found shelter for her frail boat, 
while the deep calm was on life's sea, so 
that the tempest which rose did not sweep 
it out, to be swallowed in the angry waves. 

Long before the huntsman was stirring, 
she was in the dim, morning light making 
her way to mass ; and almost every day she 
stole out, when Hortense was sleeping after 
dinner, and her father had gone to his busi- 
ness, to visit "the Blessed Sacrament. No 
place possessed the attraction of the little 
old cathedral, with its low galleries, and 
pointed windows. And there was some- 


64 


A profligate’s promise. 


thing very homelike in the dark, narrow 
passages, and small rooms of the bishop’s 
house. In the afternoons, when the front 
gates were locked, she went in through the 
yard, and under the little Gothic porch, 
passed the winding stairway, and through 
the sacristy, into the body of the church, 
stopping sometimes at the bishop’s door to 
speak to him, and hear his fervent God 
bless you, my child.” It w^as worth a great 
deal to hear but that, for the tone in which 
it was spoken was always so earnest, she was 
sure it brought down the blessing it iu- 
voked. Ah ! if I ever need a true earthly 
friend I should know where to come,” was 
always Margaret’s thought after seeing him. 

One evening she knelt in the church 
longer than usual ; it almost seemed to her 
that some sorrow was coming upon hei*, 
and she was enjoying happiness while she 
could. Those who came and went glanced 
at the motionless girl, whose uplifted face 


A profligate's promise. 


65 


was tender and beautiful enough for a 
sculptor's model of devotion, and wondered 
who she was, for she had few Catholic 
friends. It was nearly dark when she came 
into the street, and hurried homeward, her 
heart again full of the intense happiness 
Avhich had of late been a little disturbed. 
Like a child gazing in sorrowful astonish- 
ment at the glittering bubble bursting in 
its hand, she had wondered that the fair 
outward seeming of social life should be so 
hollow as she was daily discovering it to be; 
but this night her only wonder was that 
she had ever put faith in it. And she 
quietly resolved to think no more of it, but 
go on her way, doing what good she could, 
—lightening, as far as possible, the care 
that seemed weighing her father down, 
making amends by her own trust and aflec- 
tion for Ilortense's utter want of both ; 
striving to save Frederick by the g(mtle6t 
pei-suasion, and most earnest prayei ; and 


66 


A PROFLIGATE S PROMISE. 


then suffering Etienne to think and do as 
he would, only hoping, for his own sake, 
that he might one day be a Catholic. 

He came in just as she reached home, 
and stood in the hall, taking off her wrap- 
pings. Where have you been so long 
he asked. I thought you were lost.^' 

No danger of that,'" she answered, 
with one of her bright smiles. Is papa at 
home ? Yes, I see his shadow on the wall. 
Hortense is going to Mrs. Stanley's, and I 
mean to have a nice time with papa." 

I thought you would go too. I have 
just brought a lovely bouquet for you. Mrs. 
Hamilton ordered it," he added, as he took' 
her in to show it to her, and perceived that 
she was hesitating about accepting it. 

It is very beautiful," she said, bending 
down to inhale the fragrance of tube- rose 
and jessamine. I shall enjoy it more at 
home than in a crowded room. Hortense 
knows I cannot go ; it is Lent." 


A profligate's promise. 


67 


Let me stay with you then/' he said, 
with no displeased expression in his fine 
eyes ; I will read aloud." 

She did not answer until she had kissed 
her father, and seated herself beside him. 

You promised to go, Mr. Lamar, did you 
not.^>" 

“Yes," he said, carelessly; “but that 
makes no difference. I can say with truth 
that I changed my mind. Why are you 
looking so serious.^" 

The fire light was shining on her face, 
and he was struck with its gravity. “ I am 
only thinking how much better it would be 
never to break a promise," she said, with 
her childish sincerity. 

He looked a little disconcerted, but rose 
immediately. “ Well, I will dress, and go 
early. You will not insist upon my staying 
all night, as is the fashion now, will you ? " 

“ Oh no," she laughed ; “ come back as 
soon as you please." 


68 A profligate's promise. 

Neither lie nor Hor tense made theii ap« 
pearance at the tea-table, so Mr. Hamilton 
and Margaret had it alone. She made tea, 
and helped her father, laughing and chat- 
ting gayly ; but he was abstracted ; and 
when they had finished, and were again 
seated in the parlor, and she had begun tc 
read aloud, he sighed so heavily, that she 
closed her book^ asking, Papa, what is the 
matter.^ Do not you like Coleridge to- 
night.?'' It was the Wallenstein she was 
reading. 

No, darling," he said, wearily ; I do 
not think there is any thing that will please 
me half so well as looking into your face. 
What makes it so bright ? Not color, for 
you have none now, 

* 0 rare pale Margaret, 

0 fair pale Margaret.’ ” 


She folded her hands together, as she al- 
ways did when thinking, and was silent for 


A profligate's promise 


69 

ft moment. Papa, I wish you were a 
Catholic ! " she said, suddenly. He could 
not repress a smile at her earnestness, but 
sighed afterwards. 

I am afraid, d^ar, that would not 
lighten my face, nor my heart either." 

Oh yes, it would, papa ! Tell me what 
darkens both. I can see one is doubt," she 
added, half playfully, caressing his cheek. 

Tell me, papa." 

No, Margaret. I would not implant a 
single feeling of distrust in your confiding, 
unsuspicious heart ; I would not sadden you 
by telling how vain and selfish those we 
most love are. But I will ask you, my 
child, to be still my hope, my comfort, my 
all, in whatever evil betide me." 

The tears were in her eyes, and she dared 
jiot trust her voice to speak. 

He went on : And Frederick, besides 
disgracing us all, is ruining me. I cannot 
bear it long ; I shall go down with a crash." 


70 


A profligate’s promise. 


He spoke with startling energy. It will 
he a terrible blow for Hortense. 0 Hor- 
ten so ! Hortense ! he repeated so bitterly, 
that Margaret saw he felt his wife’s utter 
eartlessness more than any thing else. 
She might have saved me all this sorrow, 
and now that it is coming fast upon me, 
she leaves me alone to meet it. She can 
lavish thousands upon dress and vanities, 
and spend night after night at fashionable 
revels, without a thought for my happiness. 
Margaret, I believe now she never cared for 
me ; she only married my purse. Well ! 
she can have that as long' as it lasts; it will 
soon be empty.” 

0 papa ! do not talk so. You are only 
low-spirited to-night. Your fears will all 
be gone by to-morrow.” 

No,” he said, despondingly ; I am 
fearfully embarrassed. I see no hope of 
meeting my responsibilities.” Is that Hor* 
tense ? ” he asked again in that bitterly re- 


A profligate’s promise. 


71 


proachful voice, as she passed through the 
hall, to enter the carriage. Mr. Lamar put 
his head in the door to say good night, 
and then followed her. They were alone 
again ; the parent and child each wrapped 
in their own thoughts. Mr. Hamilton, 
stung by his wife’s selfish worldliness, re- 
solving to leave her in ignorance until the 
sudden loss of wealth would either crush, or 
change her ; and Margaret sadly going 
hack to the past, and wishing, Oh so heart- 
ily ! that it was in her power to make Hor- 
tense what her own dear mother had been. 
It seemed a hopeless task. And Frederick, 
too ! he had deceived her. He was none 
the better for her entreaties and prayers. 

Good night,” said her father, after a 
long silence. God bless you, dear. Do 
not let these sad things rest upon your 
n)ind. I am sorry I spoke of them, but it 
seems to me you have a way of dispelling 


72 


A profligate's promise. 


all shadows from your spirit. Some day 
you must teach me how." 

Shall I, papa ? " she exclaimed, clasp- 
ing her hands in eager delight. Oh, if I 
may do that, no sorrow or suffering will be 
worth talking of Let me begin now ; let 
me tell you how faith lights up the darkest 
cavern of human woe ; with what firm steps 
she leads us over the roughest paths of life, 
pointing ever to the Divine Master, who 
walks before us with the cross upon his 
shoulders, and the thorny crown on his brow ; 
how she bids us look into the August heart, 
laid bare to our view, and see how its every 
throb, from the first in Bethlehem to the 
last on Calvary, was agonizing in its intense 
love, its unflinching constancy, and then 
ask ourselves if the momentary pangs we feel 
are written or thought. 0 papa ! papa ! 
I can't talk to you." Her arms were 
around his neck, and her cheek wet with 
tears pressed close to his. Do not you 


A PROFLIGATE'iS PROMISE. 


73 


know, papa,'^ she wliispered presently very 
softly, that Catholic Faith, and Hope and 
Charity, — not the cold affairs Protestants 
give those names, but the living, burning 
virtues imparted by the Holy Ghost, — alone 
can make life light, and purchase an unut- 
terably bright eternity 

He did not answer, but in a little while 
unwound • her arms, and kissing her fore- 
head, repeated, God bless you, dear ! God 
bless you ! and went away. 

Margaret’s tears flowed for a while, but 
they were not sad ones. When she lifted 
up her head, Frederick, pale and haggard, 
stood before her, Margaret,’^ he said, 
hurriedly, ^^have you any money ? I must 
have it ; and I dare ask no one but you 
Give me what you have. Forget and for- 
give this once, and I will do all you wish.” 

You have been gambling, Frederick,” 
she said, rather than asked, with a shudder. 
He was silent, and shrank from her sorrow- 


7 


74 


A PROFLIGATE^S PROMISE. 


fill gaze ; there was something in it he 
eould not meet. Tears and reproaches 
would have been far preferable to the white, 
painful tranquillity of every feature ; but 
she had no heart for either. Slowly, as if 
worn out wdth fatigue, she went to the 
door, motioning him to remain. He walked 
the room with quick, nervous strides, until 
she returned, and placed a small rdll of bills 
in his hand. It was her little treasure, 
— dollars saved from the sums Hortense, 
with unsparing hand, gave her for her pri- 
vate use, and hoarded for some charitable 
purpose ; and without a word of thanks her 
brother grasped them, and left her. She 
went to the window, and with a weary, 
helpless look, gazed out on the cold, cloud- 
less sky. How calmly the stars were shin- 
ing, and how solemn the earth, with its 
sliadows, looked in their dim light ! Her 
dieart grew strong again, and with a calm- 
ness that astonished herself, she examined 


A profligate's promise. 


75 


her chances of success in the task she had 
so enthusiastically undertaken — her brother's 
reformation. She was beginning to see its 
difficulty ; the strong ties of habit that 
would have to be cut through, the frequent 
relapses, promises heedlessly made, and as 
heedlessly broken, to be patiently borne, 
and the calm, yet fervent zeal, necessary to 
surmount all these. But it was not impos- 
sible ; with grace and perseverance it might 
be accomplished. And how fervently she 
prayed in the solemn starlight for that 
grace, none but He who alone saw her could 
know. But another thought soon disturbed 
her. She knew that when Frederick began 
to lose at the gambling-table, he played like 
a madman, and surely the trifling sum she 
had given him was not enough to cover his 
losses. He will use it to try and win back 
what he has lost, and I have only given him 
the means of sinning more." It was like a 
dash of cold water u])on her high resolves 


76 


A profligate's promise. 


of the moment before. So she stood with 
bright, tearless eyes, and her forehead fur- 
rowed by the intentness of her gaze, until 
Mr. Lamar came in. She had not seen 
him enter, and it was only when he spoke 
that she became aware of his presence. 

“ Pardon me, Miss Hamilton, you will 
take cold here. I had no idea I was away 
so long.’' The fire had smouldered away, 
and the lamp was burning dim. Let me 
leave you at your room, as I go to my 
own.” Margaret was too pre-occupied to 
notice the exceeding gentleness of Lis man- 
ner ; he thought she had waited for him. 

Where is Hortense ? ” she asked, as 
they went up the stairway together. 

Enjoying herself. She will not be home 
these two hoars. Good night.” 

Margaret went to bed, and dreamed that 
her brother was sleeping in a frail boat, 
that was sweeping down the rapids of Ni- 
agara River. She stood on the top of the 


A profligate's promise.' 


77. 


tower that is on the very brink of the great 
fall, and saw him coming on with fearful 
speed, without power to help, or even warn 
him. She tried in vain to wake him by 
lier cries — the roar of the water drowned 
her voice ; and dashing from rock to rock, 
he drew nearer and nearer the fatal leap. 
At last he stood up, — he saw his danger, 
and then, tossing up his arms, with a wild^ 
hopeless cry, went down into the boiling 
surge. 


V. 

SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 

Margaret, are you busy ? May I coiiie 
111 asked Frederick, the next day, looking 
into his sister’s room. She was bending over 
a picture which lay on her work-table, and 
without waiting for an answer he closed the 
door and looked over her shoulder. It was 
their mother’s portrait she was gazing at. 

There is the money you lent me last night, 
Margaret,’^ he said, tossing out some gold, 
and turning to leave, but she grasped his 
hand. 

‘‘ What I feared is true, then ! 0 Fred ! 

brother 1 why have you done this ? ” 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


79 


“ What, Margaret. returned your money ? 
I will keep it if you wish/' he added with an 
attempt at pleasantry. 

She forced herself to smile and answer in 
the same tone. ‘^No, I thank you, Fred. 
I have been unpacking some music, and I 
want to have a concert to-night, one of our 
old time concerts," glancing at the picture. 

You must stay home and hear me sing. 
Come, brother, remember you are under ob- 
ligations to me, and must do as I ask." He 
had not expected such a reception, and was 
unprepared for her playful manner ; she had 
resolved to try what affection alone would 
do. 

Alice will expect me," he said evasively. 

She had not the slightest suspicion of the 
compact Hortense and Frederick had made, 
and it was with a joyful surprise that she 
thought now for the first time that Alice 
might be an ally in her good work. 

I will send for Alice," she said, with a 


80 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


bright sraile^ if that will be an induce- 
ment 

But, Margaret, I promised to go to the 
Newport barracks to supper. I will come 
back early/' 

No ! I will not take a refusal. They can 
do without you for once. Dear Fred, let us 
give papa this pleasure, he has so little now. 
It is mamma's birth-day, and you know 
what a festival it used to be in our dear old 
home. I wish we were there again," she 
sighed. I went all through the house yes- 
terday, and the dark empty i*ooms looked so 
desolate. I thought the voice of the past 
reproached me when I was coming out, but 
it was only the sound of my footsteps on 
the uncarpeted floor, and the wind rushing 
through the long halls." 

There was no resisting the tearful tender- 
ness of her appeal, he was conquered, and 
promised to spend the evening at home, and 
for once kept his word. Hortenso ar u^al 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


81 


went to her dressing room after tea, and 
Margaret, voting the parlor a barn of a 
place,'' led the way to a cozy little room 
at the back of the house, in which a piano 
and some old pictures belonging to the first 
Mrs. Hamilton were kept. She had ordered 
a fire, but would have no lamp ; and as she 
sat at the instrument, now shrouded in the 
dim twilight, now suddenly coming into full 
view as the flickering blaze shot up and lit 
the room with a momentary glory, Etienne, 
who was with them, thought her the very 
impersonation of a flreside genius, while 
Alice, who had come, sat silently watching 
the lights and shadows dancing through the 
room. Margaret seldom sang, except when 
alone or with her father ; she was too timid 
to sing for others, and Hortense cared little 
to hear her, as her voice was not a fashion- 
ably trained one. But this night there was 
a power and pathos in it that astonished 
her hearers. The instrument was an old 


82 


S0.METH1NG LIKE OLD TIMES. 


German one, almost organ-like in its depth 
and fulness of tone ; and Margaret's fingers, 
generally so trembling and uncertain, swept 
over the keys with a masterly skill. It was 
not for mere gratification she played ; a 
deeper motive gave strength to hand and 
voice. Song after song that had never been 
heard there before rang out that night ; old 
touching ballads her mother had taught her 
in the deserted homestead ; wild lays of the 
sea, that seemed to echo the sound of dash- 
ing waters, and which Fred had once loved ; 
until Mr. Hamilton, who lay back in his 
arm-chair, felt the old home feeling stealing 
over him again, and a look of repose settled 
upon his care-worn features. Ah, if Hor- 
tense would but take the vacant place,'’ he 
sighed to himself, if she would but come 
here now." ^ 

He unclosed his eyes and saw her stand- 
ing on the threshold, in all her cold haughty 
beauty, with glowing pomegranate blossoms 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


83 


in her black hair, and a scarlet shawl folded 
around her, and with a pang he remembered 
a far less beautiful but more loveable face, 
and thought, ^^It can never be. She is 
made for admiration and display/' 

Margaret, why are you playing here ? 
Come to the parlor, visitors are there." 

Indeed, I cannot, Hortense. We are 
having a select party of our own, and you 
can't expect me to desert a very appreciat- 
ing audience, for one that would not care 
two coppers for my music." 

Don't be nonsensical, Marguerite ; Eti- 
enne, bring her with you." He shook his 
head. I do not believe I will obey, Mrs. 
Hamilton. I am sure her voice would take 
wings to itself, and it is too beautiful to he 
sent off in that style." 

She has managed to keep it in the clouds 
pretty well until this evening," said Hor- 
tense ; while Margaret, yielding to one of the 
old impulses that had of late been so sedu- 


84 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


lously kept down, sprang from her stool with 
a gay laugh, and making a profound courtesy 
exclaimed, You are absolutely delightful, 
Mr. Lamar. After that, Hortense, I am 
sure you will not ask me to go. Wedl let 
you stay with us if you behave nicely.^^ 

Mr. Hamilton sprang forward: Yes, Hor- 
tense, stay with us 

Thank you she answered coldly, with- 
drawing a little. My friends are waiting, 
I shall play for them to-night.'' Mr. Ham- 
ilton sank back with a look of disappoint- 
ment, and Fred, who had been turning 
over the leaves of his sister's music book, 
laughed maliciously, and whispered in Mar- 
garet's ear, Sis, that beauty of a mamma 
is bent on making a rich match for you, and 
as she is afraid Etienne is not catchable, 
she has put another string to her bow." 

Hortense entertained her visitors with 
music as brilliant and devoid of feeling as 
hciself, but even in the pauses of the glitter- 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


85 


ing soulless measures, snatches of sweet plain- 
tive song, and bursts of musical laughter 
stole up the hall. 

Papa is asleep said Margaret, closing 
her piano, and it is eleven o'clock. I 
move an adjourned meeting until to-morrow 
evening at seven. Who seconds the mo- 
tion 

said Mr. Lamar, ^^but for the last 
time. I must return to the south the next 
day.'^ 

A month before Margaret would have ex- 
pressed her regret without a shadow of hesi- 
tation, for she really enjoyed his society, but 
now she merely said, Must you ? I suppose 
you will come back to Cincinnati some day." 

I do not know. It is doubtful, unless, 
indeed," he added, laughing, but with an 
earnest look, unless you bid me. I would 
consider myself bound to obey your wishes." 

0 no !" she said, slightly confused, I 
would not like to interfere with any of your 
8 


86 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


arrangements.^’ His dark face paled, and 
with a very grave good night he went. 

Why, Madge, I really shall be tempted 
to stay home every evening, if you can make 
them all as pleasant as this has been,” said 
Frederick, with a laugh that sounded more 
like that which used to accompany Margaret’s 
childish one, than any she had heard since 
her return. Come, Alice, I will take you 
home.” 

No,” said Margaret, she shall not go. 
Ally, dear, I want you to-night to stay with 
me.” They went up the narrow back 
stairway together, and Margaret, with an 
instinctive dread that her brother would 
make his escape if possible, folded a shawl 
around herself and Alice, and the two 
walked up and down the hall that led to his 
room. The moonlight streamed in a win- 
flow looking out on the garden, and as they 
crossed the broad beam of light, Fred’s 
door opened. He stood still as he saw 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES, 87 


them. Do you want any thing, brother ?** 
she asked. 

No. What are you walking in the cold 
for ? Go to bed."'' His door was closed and 
locked, and Margaret breathed more freely. 

Margaret,’" said Alice, as they stopped 
to gaze out on the cold, clear, moonlit sky, 
will you tell me something, if I ask it — 
something that very much concerns my 
happiness ? I have h-eard,’^ she continued, 
without waiting for the assurance she asked, 
have heard lately that Frederick goes 
night after night to a gambling house on 
the wharf, and plays recklessly. Is it true ? 
Tell me.” 

She was trembling, and spoke so rapidly 
that Margaret had scarce time to answer 
with a half smothered sigh, and a vehement 
wish that she could contradict it. 

‘^0 1 feared it !” said Alice, in a low 
frightened voice. ^^He comes to see me 
often, but in spite of his protestations I see 


88 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


that he is anxious to be away, and then he 
often hurries off before the evening is half 
spent. Margaret, what shall I do ? It will 
kill me if he does that after our marriage.” 

Marriage ! ” repeated Margaret in aston- 
ishment, and then seizing her hand, added, 
‘‘ I am so glad ! That will save him, Alice. 
I have wished to speak to you of this sad 
thing, and beg you to help me in my firm 
endeavors to loosen the hold that terrible vice 
has upon him. I know nothing of your en- 
gagement ; but 1 suspected. Ally, that you 
had acquired an influence over him, and 
now we must use it together.” Simple- 
hearted Margaret ! She believed that Alice, 
with her pale, touching beauty, and gentle 
manners, had insensibly softened Fred's 
heart, and in the warmth of her own loving 
nature, she folded her in a sisterly embrace. 

Dear Ally, we will labor together ; we will 
so guard his steps with our love that he can- 
not escape us ; and in the happy home we 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


89 


will make him, he will soon forget all the 
wild excitement that seems so necessary for 
him now."' Again the exalted look she had 
worn on New-Year's eve came into her face, 
so that Alice saw its glow in the still moon- 
light that noted them. She could not feel 
it, she was but a weak, loving girl, willing to 
do every thing for Fred's sake ; but with 
Margaret's sisterly affection was mingled a 
lofty charity, an extreme desire of saving a 
s/iul. 

“ Did not Fred tell you of it ? " asked 
Alice, after a pause. 

No, but I suppose he intended to. I 
cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me, 
Alice. There is but one thing that could 
give me more." 

And what is that ? " 

Your being a good papist, with a pros- 
pect of making him one before you marry 
him," she said, half laughing. I suppose 
I shall have to do double work to make you 


90 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


both that. When is the wedding to take 
place 

Early in April. The first or second, I 
think.’’ . 

^^0 no ! ” said Margaret. Wait a little 
longer, that will be in Holy Week. Wait 
until after Easter, Ally, won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly, if you wish it. I don’t 
think after all it could be, for Hortense in- 
sisted upon Mr. Lamar being groomsman, 
and I am sure he will not return so soon.” 

He is coming back, then ? ” asked Mar- 
garet, with a shade of disappointment in 
her face. She saw that Hortense was bent 
upon making her accept him. But she re- 
solved that, with God’s help, no power on 
earth should make her abandon her prin- 
ciples. 

Ally, would you not like to keep house 
in the old. homestead ? You know papa 
gave it to me long ago. It has been un- 
tenanted for nearly a year, and I do not 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


91 


like to see it looking so dreary and desolate. 
1 want the quaint rooms to be occupied as 
of old, and the garden, so sadly neglected, to 
be refixed. I cannot think how papa came 
to leave it. I am sure it is fifty times love- 
lier than this grand house, and the stiff, 
pragmatic squares out there which they dig- 
nify with the name of garden. Coax Fred 
to go there. I will take the rent out in 
board,'' she added, laughing gayly, ^^for I 
mean to spend a great deal of my time with 
you. And we will not forget our task. Ally, 
we will labor hard, and seek to make Fred 
a nobler, better man." 

With a gush of tears Alice laid her head 
on Margaret's shoulder. What can I do ? 
You are an angel, Margaret, and if you can- 
not save him, none on earth can." 

Are you girls going to sit there in the 
cold chattering all night ? " asked Mrs. Ham- 
ilton, crossing the hall from her dressing-room 
to her chamber, with her night-lamp in her 
hand. 


92 


SOMETHING LIKE OLD TIMES. 


No, Mrs. Hamilton,'’ said Margaret 
playfully. We have finished our secret 
conference, and mean to retire now." She 
tried to shield Alice from the glare of the 
lamp, but Hortense threw the light upon 
their faces, and saw the tear stains on one, 
and the changing color on the other, and 
knew that they were caused by some deep 
emotion. 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


Easter came, bringing its joy and exul- 
tation to Margaret, and soon after came 
Etienne Lamar. In his manner to Margaret 
there was so much grave politeness, such dis- 
tant, unmasked deference, that she was com- 
pletely thrown off her guard ; and much to 
Hortense's satisfaction, the old familiar inter- 
course between them was gradually resumed, 
as the preparations for the bride's reception 
progressed. The old laughter and jesting 
went on, the morning readings too when it 
was j)Ossible, though that was not often, for 
Margaret was in great demand at all consul- 


94 


A PRESENT REFUSED 


tations on dress and other arrangements, 
And after the wedding, when Frederick and 
his wife came to spend a month with them, 
and the round of fetes in their honor began, 
Etienne was Margaret’s constant attendant, 
as he had been in the early winter. And 
so the weeks passed by, Margaret putting 
aside the light shadows that had begun to 
darken her path, and again enjoying to the 
fullest extent the happiness that sprang 
from a heart full of peace ; and Etienne 
building anew the fair Chateau en Espagne 
which had once been levelled. 

They returned from a drive one day, and 
Margaret sj)rang from the carriage and up 
the steps with her arms full of lilacs, which 
she had gathered at the old homestead in 
passing. She went into the parlor, and 
found Alice crouching rather than sitting in 
the low back window, her face buried in her 
hands, and her slight form shaking like a 
reed in a storm. In a moment the flowers 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 95 

were dropped lieedlessly over the carpet, and 
Margaret's arms were around her. 

Ally ! dear Ally ! what is the matter ? 
Has Fred been gambling again ? " she asked 
hurriedly. 

0 no ! I believe not. I hope not/' she 
answered, in such a helpless tone that Mar- 
garet could scarce control her own voice. 

Tell me what it is then, Alice ? " 

1 cannot. It is to come. 0 Hortense ! 
Hortense ! " With a start she remembered 
how her father had not very long before 
pronounced that name in just such -a re- 
proachful tone. Why was it so ? What 
evil spell was Hortense weaving over every 
inmate of the house ? There is Fred ! ** 
exclaimed Alice, as she heard her husband's 
step in the hall. Give him this, Margaret, 
and tell him it is all I have, that I care no 
longer for it, but it will not compensate him 
for a richer gift which he regrets." She 
threw up the sash, and was gone before he 


96 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


entered the room. Margaret was bewiklerd 
but did as Alice had desired. 

Her brother grasped the packet she 
handed hiiiij and scarce heeding the mes- 
sage she delivered, broke the seal. It con- 
tained the deeds of some property, and 
several thousand dollars, all the wealth Alict 
possessed. Bah ! Is that all ? See here, 
Hortense,'’ he continued, as Mrs. Hamilton, 
ill a sumptuous dinner dress, entered the 
room ; is this the magnificent fortune I 
was promised ? It doesn't pay for the trouble 
I gave myself to win it." 

She glanced over the papers. Why it 
is a great deal less than I thought. But I 
am sure, Fred, it is capital enough to begin 
with, and if you make good use of it, will 
soon be trebled." 

He laughed. “ I intend to make good 
use of it this very night. If I am not worth 
twice as much to-morrow morning, it will 
not be my fault." 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


97 


Margaret understood and sprang 

forward a step, but suddenly stood still 
again. She knev/ remonstrance would be 
useless. ^^Well, Fred/' said Mrs. Ham- 
ilton, I hope you will do something for 
yourself now. It is high time, I think. 
Hand me that casket, Margaret. J ust see 
what Mr. Hamilton has refused to give me, 
because his son has' drawn so extensively 
upon his funds during the past year." She 
touched the spring, and as the lid flew open, 
Margaret uttered an exclamation over the 
brilliant jewels that lay flashing within. 

Are they not superb ? " asked Mrs. Ham- 
ilton. 

“ Yes ; and you look regal in them," said 
Frederick, clasping them on her. Etienne 
came in while she stood there, with the 
circle of gems burning like stars in her mid- 
night hair, and glistening on her neck and 
arms. 

They are very beautiful," he said, as 


98 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


Hor tense extended her arm, that he might 
examine its brilliant ornament. I have 
seldom seen hner ; and they are well set, 
too. Miss Hamilton, you should have a 
match for them."' 

exclaimed Margaret. ^^No ; Ido 
not care for diamonds. The only jewels I 
ever fancied were pearls ; and yet I think 
if I wore them I should be haunted by the 
ghost of the weary, dim-eyed diver, who had 
gone down into ocean’s caves to gather 
them ; and ever in my ears would ring that 
sorrowful strain, 

‘ A life hath been like a rain-drop shed, 

For that pale quivering ray.’ ” 

Oh do not fancy, any thing about it/’ 
said Hortense sarcastically ; you will not 
iiave a chance of being haunted, my dear, 
unless you get a rich lover, or husband, to 
})resent you with pearls-. Your father re- 
fused you quite as much as he did me. 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


99 


How do you like these, Mr. Lamar She 
lifted up a portion of the casket, and be- 
neath lay a complete set of pearls. I 

thought I knew your taste, Marguerite. 
But do not be tempted ; you cannot have 
them.'' 

She laughed. I care very little for 

them, I assure you. Flowers are quite 

costly enough for me." She gathered up 
her scattered lilacs, and began to arrange 
them in a vase ; and Fred, taking his pack- 
age of papers and bills, went out. Hor- 
tense, slowly and reluctantly, unfastened 
the gems she wore ; while Mr. Lamar si- 
lently examined the pearls, thinking how 
much Margaret's taste was in keeping with 
her character. Let me put them up," 
said Hortense presently, taking them from 
his hand ; 1 promised Palmer an answer 

at one o'clock, and it is two now ; thej 
must be returned." 


100 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


I am going that way now ; let me leave 
them for you/' he said. 

It is too near dinner-time ; wait until 
afterwards." 

No; I shall be back in time." 

Margaret went up to Ally's room to dis- 
cover, if possible, the cause of her strange 
excitement ; but did not succeed. All 
Alice would tell her was, that she feared 
Fred would soon resume his old habits. 

Ally, dear, why did you give him money ? 
It will be a temptation to him, and I do 
not think he can resist. It would have been 
kinder to keep your little fortune, for he 
will have nothing of his own that he will 
not stake at the gambling- table." 

Oh, I could not help it, Margaret," she 
said, with a burst of tears, and wringing 
her hands in hopeless anguish. I am so 
miserable ; I shall never be happy again." 

It was long before she would be soothed 
by the gentlest caresses, the most affectionate 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


101 


words. The two went down to dinner, both 
looking a little i)ale and anxious ; and Mar- 
garet again with the unsatisfied feeling that 
had once before visited her. It happened 
to be Ally's birthday ; she was just of age, 
and had that morning received her property 
from her guardian's hands. And there was 
to be a party in the evening at a friend's 
house. Margaret went early to her room to 
dress, and found the pearls on her toilette, 
wdth a card, on which was written, in Eti- 
enne's hand, Margaret, will you not wear 
them for my sake.^^" In a moment she 
understood her position, — saw that her own 
simplicity had again duped her ; that sh 
was leading him on to that which she most 
wished to avoid. And without glancing at 
Uiem a second time, hastily wrote in pencil 
beneath his words, cannot and ring- 
ing for a servant, sent casket and card to 
Mr. Lamar's room. It was well she did it 
so s])eedily, for Hortense came in a moment 


102 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


after ; and although she said nothing, her 
keen eyes went roving in search of the 
present she suspected Margaret had received. 
Etienne was standing in the parlor when 
she w^ent dow^n, wearing a few fragrant 
flowers in her beautiful hair, instead of the 
gems he had wished to see there. How^ 
pale and sad he looked, with his arms 
folded, and his head bent dowm ! Sh‘e was 
really grieved, and softly stepped hack, 
anxious to save him the pain of a direct re- 
fusal. But he saw her, and refused to accept 
of her kindness. 

Come in, Margaret ; I w^ant to speak 
to you. I must be certain that I have un- 
derstood you aright.'' 

She saw that it w^as best to he frank 
with him now. ‘‘ I think so." And after 
a moment's pause, she went on quickly, the 
flush mounting to her very forehead, and her 
eyelids drooping : ‘‘ I am very, very sorry, 
Mr. Lamar, that any thing has occurred to 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


105 


interrupt our friendly relations. Believe 
me, whatever encouragement I have given 
has been unconscious. Being a Catholic, I 
could not think of marrying a Protestant ; 
and I believe myself incapable of inspiring 
a deeper feeling than that of friendship.^’ 
It cost her a very great effort to say this 
much, but she thought it best to finish the 
matter, once for all. 

‘^You have, indeed, given me cause to 
hope,’^ he said, gravely ; but a moment 
after, asked with all the impetuosity of his 
nature, Margaret, why need your faith 
divide us ? You do not think me base 
enough to interfere with any thing you con- 
sidered a religious duty ? ” 

No ; but I dare not trust myself. I 
would but court temptation, and by the 
very act render myself unworthy of the 
grace necessary to sustain me, should my 
faith be tried. Forgive me, if I must wound 
you ; it is painful indeed.” 


104 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


There was no need of saying more ; with 
one bitter exclamation, he was gone. 

Where is Alice asked Frederick, 
coming in a moment later, while Margaret 
was still standing in sorrowful thought, 
when Mr. Lamar had left her. Tell her, 
I will not be able to go out with her to- 
night ; she must go wdth you and Lamar/’ 
do not think he will do me that 
honor. We wdll have no escort if you play 
us false, — not even Hortense as a chape- 
rone, for she is going to the concert,’’ she 
said, with forced gayety. ‘‘I can’t allow 
you to desert us. Ally, come here, and 
give your truant Knight his orders.” 

Alice, with a face almost as white as her 
snowy gauze dress, came into the room. 

I am ready ; are you waiting for me ? ” 
‘^No,” said her husband, hurriedly; [ 
came to tell you I could not go. Some 
friends are waiting for me. Good-bye.” 
There was strange strength in the deli- 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


105 


cate hands that grasped his arm ; strange 
vehemence in the usually gentle voice, — 

Brother, do not go ! By all that is dear 
to you, I conjure you to renounce for ever 
these fatal associates. Think of Alice, 
brother ; for her sake — '' 

Oh no ! no she exclaimed, with pas- 
sionate vehemence. Not for mine. Do 
not ask him that, Margaret ; it will but 
send him the quicker."' 

He broke from his sister's grasp, mutter 
ing a curse upon the foolishness of women ; 
and they saw him no more that night. 
Many comments were made upon the young 
bride's pale, joyless look, and Margaret's 
evident depression ; but, happily, they knew 
nothing of it. Margaret in vain tried to 
conceal her own anxiety, that she might 
shield her sister's from observation ; and, 
perhaps, for once regretted that she did not 
possess Hortense's tact. Etienne came to 
her while she sat tired out with the fruitless 


106 A PRESENT REFUSED. 

effort. Pardon me, Miss Hamilton, for 
intruding upon you. Mrs. Hamilton looks 
so weary and ill, that I have come to offer 
myself as an escort home."' 

You are very kind,'’ she said, with a 
grateful look. Where is Alice ? " 

Putting on her shawl ; she is anxious 
to go." 

Then we will go at once. Is Alice 
ill ? The carriage has gone for Hortense." 

I have provided one," he said. After 
that evening he carefully avoided meeting 
her except in the presence of others, and 
then never paid her the slightest attention 
that could be construed into any thing 
more than the merest politeness. It quite 
changed the aspect of the family ; they had 
been the life of the house, and now that 
they were cold and distant, the rest seemed 
to be chilled into silence and gravity. All 
hut Hortense. She tried reproaches and 
entreaties alike in vain ; or, to use her own 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


107 


expression, inov3d heaven and earth to make 
Margaret sensible : she would neither be 
driven, nor persuaded, into a marriage her 
conscience did not approve of. But Hor- 
tense succeeded in making her feel very 
miserable about the affair, and reproach 
herself greatly for her apparent coquetry. 

She was thinking of it one evening as she 
sat at the open window sewing, while the 
soft, fragrant air of May, played over her. 
Her father had been watching her busy 
fingers for a long time. 

And so my lij^le Margaret,'" he said, at 
last, you have refused to go South with 
Mr. Lamar. Don’t you think you would 
like it 

The South ?” she said, evasively; ‘^yes, 
I am sure I should like to go there some 
day with you.” 

But not with Etienne 

You do not want me to leave you al- 
ready, papa, do you ? I would a great deal 


108 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


rather be with you than with any one else 
in the world.*' 

I know it, my darling," he said, softly 
stroking her hair. I know, too, I would 
miss you sadly ; but I am not so selfish as 
to wish to keep you always. Tell me the 
truth, Margaret ; why have you refused him ? " 
She told him with a quiet, determined 
look, her insurmountable obstacle. do 
not think you need fear on that score ; he 
is too high-minded and honorable to inter- 
fere in the least with yonr opinions." 

She did not answer, and for a moment 
suftered herself to reproach Hortense silently 
for troubling her father with this matter. 
She knew it was her work. 

Margaret," he continued, after a pause, 
you know me too well to think I would com- 
pel you to do any thing that would not be 
for your own happiness. You know it is 
not selfishness that prompts me to ask 
what I now do ; — marry Etienne for my 


A PRESENT REFUSED. 


109 


sake ! Save me, my child, from utter ruin. 
None but you can do it, and you surely 
will not refuse. His wealth will be the 
means of redeeming me from disgrace, or, 
at least, his influence will obtain me time to 
recover my own.'^ 

He had taken her hands, and gazed into 
her face with anxious, troubled eyes. Papa, 
I cannot!'' she said. I do not know 
what disgrace you mean, but nothing can 
tempt me to do that which would surely 
incur evil. If it is poverty that you dread 
for my sake, be sure, papa, I do not fear it. 
We will be but the more necessary to each 
other, if that comes upon us. Do not try 
to drive me away, dear papa ; I want to b^ 
your Margaret always." 

He did not speak again for a long time ; 
but as the daylight wore away, and the 
new May moon looked down upon them, he 
said, as if awakened from a reverie, Let 
it come ; with your love, I cannot be poor." 


10 


ftlPPEN RETRIBUTION. 


Frederick tell again into his old mode 
of life ; it had become too like nature to be 
easily changed, and the money he had re- 
ceived from his wife was, as Margaret feared, 
but a new temptation. Night after night 
he remained away until very late, and then 
generally returned with a gloomy, morose 
look. He was evidently not prospering in 
his evil career ; Margaret saw it with less 
pain than pleasure, for she hoped when all 
he had was squandered, and there was no 
probability of obtaining more, except by his 
own labor, he would grow wiser. Alice 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


Ill 


never spoke of him now ; never even to Mar- 
garet, whom she loved better than all the 
rest, told the cause of her constant sadness. 
She was always gentle, always did whatever 
her husband desired, but it was not with 
that graceful quickness of affection which 
had made her so beautiful in the first weeks 
of their marriage ; there was hesitation and 
a timidity that seemed fearful of offending 
in all her actions. 

One evening she and Margaret were walk- 
ing up and down the hall, and on the porch 
overlooking the garden, Margaret, with her 
light-hearted gayety, trying to make Alice 
merry for a while. She was showing her 
some flowers she had brought from the home- 
stead that day. 

Are they not lovely ? Only look at 
this superb rose. It is early yet for roses, 
but I found this growing in a sunny shel- 
tered corner where an old window had fallen 
over it slantwise, and so it was enclosed in a 


112 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


soTfc of hot-bed. There is one of tlie same 
species here, but it is a miserably stunted 
affair, and has only half a bud on it. It is 
the truth, she exclaimed, as Alice, with a 
smile shook her head ; ^^the other half is 
eaten off by worms, but Hor tense thinks it 
is advancing to perfection. I heard her tell 
Mr. Stanley the other day, that it was one 
of the finest bushes in town.'" 

She laughed until the tears came into her 
eyes. 

If you had lived as I have. Ally, with 
flowers and trees all my life, you would think 
the city affairs they call by those names but 
poor apologies. Now at the homestead it 
is something like. By the way, you have 
never told me what Frederick decided upon 
doing. Will you go to housekeeping then ? 
Do, Ally ! It is a most lovely place to live 
in, almost like the country.^’ 

am afraid I cannot,’' she said, the 
pained look Margaret had succeeded in ban- 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. US 

ishing for a moment, \ returning to her face 
I do not think we shall go to housekeep- 
ing at all. I do not know what is to be- 
come of us, Margaret ; I believe Fred has 
spent every thing, and has even sold the 
little property I gave him. Yesterday he 
asked me to sign a deed, saying he had sold 
the lot on Third street. And last night, 
she went on in a forced calmness, “ he was 
away, and returned this morning, looking so 
gloomy and speaking so harshly, that I felt 
sure he had lost the money he had received 
for it.^’ 

0 that is too bad ! exclaimed Marga- 
ret, indignantl)^, It is downright robbery. 
I shall speak to papa about it. Why did 
you sign the deed, Alice ? ” 

Because she is more obliging than you 
would have been, Madge, said her brother, 
joining them. Do not be so alarmed about 
the safety of your fortune, Mrs. Hamilton," 
he said mockingly. shall place it in 


10 * 


114 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


your hands again to-morrow morning, since 
it seems you repent the gift you made of it 
to me.'’ 

She did not answer his taunt, but Mar- 
garet saw that her lips quivered, and felt 
her trembling, and when Frederick left them 
abruptly, she bowed her head and cried bit- 
terly. 

Hush ! hush ! dear Alice. He did not 
mean to wound you so ; Mr. Lamar is com- 
ing. Do not cry any more. Ally.” 

She hastily wiped away the traces of tears 
as Etienne came down the hall towards them, 
and left them for a few moments to stand 
in the outer hall door, and gaze down the 
street, in the vain hope of seeing her hus- 
band returning. 

Margaret,” said Mr. Lamar, while they 
were alone, will you forgive me if I once 
more introduce a disagreeable topic ? Have 
you ever suspected that things are not going 
right with Frederick ? ” 


SUDDEN KETEIBUTION. 


115 


1 liave not suspected, I know it/' she 
said, in a low but unfaltering voice of suj)~ 
pressed sorrow. Is there nothing that you 
can do, Mr. Lamar, for him ? You can fol- 
low and watch over him, where neither 
A lly nor I dare go ; will you not try to help 
us save him ? " 

She had taken his hand in both of hers, 
and looked up now with a new gleam of 
hope in her face. Yes, for your sake, 
Margaret, I will do what I can. I fear it 
will be useless. " 

Not for my sake, but from a higher and 
purer motive, " she said, with a burst of 
tears. It only lasted a moment. “ I am 
so frightened, whenever I think of Fred, 
that I cannot control myself. 0, I wish he 
would come home now ! " 

Alice came in, and Etienne dared not teii 
what he had that morning heard He was 
sitting in the library window reading, but 
60 hidden by the heavy folds of the curtains, 


116 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


that none within the room could see him. 
Hortense, unconscious of his presence, as he 
was of hers, sat at a desk writing. Frede- 
rick came in and stood beside her, while she 
folded and sealed a letter, and then said ab- 
ruptly, Well, madam ! The last copper 
of the fine fortune you helped me to get is 
gone. What am I to do now ? 

I am sure I do not know,’' she said, in 
her quiet, tantalizing way, and fixing her 
eyes iqjon his haggard face, try and make 
one of your own, I suppose." 

How in the name of sense am I to do 
that ? Hortense, don't sit there staring at 
me, or I'll be tempted to dash my fist in 
your eyes. " 

She laughed. Mr. Hamilton, you have 
forgotten all your gentlemanly manners. 
You must take lessons in politeness again. " 

He ground his teeth to keep down the 
rising passion. If you were not a woman 
you should pay dearly for all this insolence. 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


117 


Hortense, I will not bandy words \\ith you ; 
I must have money, — I will have it ! "" he 
added, stamping his foot, and giving the 
desk a blow with his clenched hand, that 
made it shake. 

Get it then as you best can, she said, 
quietly resuming her interrupted work, 
but don't bother me with your passion ; I 
have letters to write. " 

He laughed bitterly. ^^Well! well! I 
can do nothing but yield to you, Hortense. 
Tell me how to get money, and I will not 
disturb you. I must have it, or say good- 
bye to this world. " 

Ah ! that is better. But there is still 
room for improvement in your manner of 
making a request. Let me see ! Etienne 
Lamar received a large amount yesterday ; 
could you not borrow from him ? " 

Borrow ! And how should I repay it ? '' 
She did not answer, and he stood in silent 
thought a moment, and then, with an oath, 


118 


SUDDEN liETKlBUTION. 


exclaimed, I have it now ! I will run 
the risk, and if I do not succeed, it will be 
the last game Fred Hamilton plays/’ He 
went out, and Hortense soon followed. Eti- 
enne would have escaped long before, biu 
he could not move without attracting their 
attention, and looking like an eavesdropper. 

It was of this he wanted to tell Margaret, 
had not Ally’s entrance prevented him. 
Margaret had dried her tears, and was talk- 
ing as before. 

Etienne walked a while with them, and 
then, with something of his old openness of 
manner, asked Margaret to sing for him. 

Perhaps it is the last time I shall 
have that pleasure,” he said softly, drawing 
her hand within his arm, and leading liA* to 
her own piano in the little back room. 

You know I start for New York to-mor- 
row, and from there I think I shall go to 
Europe. ” 

They sat quite late, singing and talking, 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


119 


and striving, as if by mutual consent, to 
cheer Alice. Some unusual noise in his 
room, which was just overhead, startled 
Etienne ; and saying he had left a large 
amount of money scattered on the table, he 
hurried up to see what was going on. A 
moment after they heard him call, and both 
Margaret and Alice, repeating his cry for 
help, ran up stairs. There was no lamp in 
the room, but they could see by the dim 
starlight creeping in the open window, that 
he was striving to hold some one down. He 
saw them darken the doorway, and called, 

Margaret, will you get a light, and some 
one to help me secure this rascal. DoiiT be 
frightened. There is no damage done.’" 

M •. Hamilton, aroused by the cry, came 
in, lamp in hand, before she could obey, 
and as the light flashed upon Etienne and 
the masked man he was grasping, Margaret 
felt a strange choking sensation, and the 
thought flashed over her, How very like 


120 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


Frecl/^ and Alice clenched her arm so tight- 
ly, that the print of her slender fingers was 
left on the delicate skin. Mr. Hamilton 
and Etienne bound the intruder's hands 
A'lth the strap of a trunk, and then took olf 
his mask. He had held a knife, and in the 
scuffle had gashed his own face, and it was 
a moment before they recognized the blood- 
stained and distorted visage. Alice first 
knew it, and uttered in a wild, piercing 
shriek, Frederick ! " 

Margaret, with a sudden impulse, put up 
her hands to shut out the fearful sight. 
^^Yes! yes! Frederick Hamilton, dashing 
about like a madman. What brings you 
here, madam ? Come and take the cursed 
gold out of my pocket, or undo the knot 
your friend Lamar has tied so cleverly, and 
I'll do it myself." He ground his teeth and 
shook his head in impotent rage, as Etienne 
advanced to loosen his fetters, muttering 
something in his astonishment about, a 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 121 

trick to frighten us,’^ and quite a mis- 
take/^ 

Fred exclaimed, with a fearful 
imprecation. I wanted your money ! 1 

came for that ! Wait until my hands are 
free, and Til pay you for this gash in my 
face.'' With one powerful effort he burst 
the cords that bound his hands, and picking 
up the knife he had dropped, and which they 
in tlie confusion had forgotten, sprang to- 
wards Etienne. He grasped him again, and 
Frederick, finding his efforts to accomplish his 
purpose quite useless — for Mr. Lamar's hands 
had the strength of a vice — threw himself 
forward, and turning the point of his weapon, 
plunged it into his own breast. Margaret 
was at his side in a second, and his blood 
flowed over her arms, and stained her white 
hands. 0 my God ! what is this ? " ex- 
claimed Mr. Hamilton, scarce yet under- 
standing the fearful scene, while Alice, who 
had seen it all at a glance, walked to and 


11 


122 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


fro, wringing her hands in hopeless anguish, 
Frederick answered his father with a frantic 
laugh, an oath hoarsely gurgling in his 
throat, and then fell back a ghastly corpse. 
Margaret neither shrieked nor wept, but for 
a moment stood white and rigid as marble, 
her hands clasped so tightly together, it 
seemed as if they would never part ; then 
with a low sigh sank insensible at his feet. 

When consciousness returned she was in 
her own room. It all seemed like a dream, 
and but for the blood stains on her clothes, 
she would have thought it that. But, alas, 
it was too real. She rose up, gently putting 
aside those who would have helped her, and 
with the first impulse knelt for a moment at 
the foot of her crucifix, scarcely to })ray, she 
was too bewildered for that, but the very 
act was a silent supplication. Margaret ! 
Margaret ! where are you going ? "" called 
her father, as she crossed the room. He had 
been sitting behind the curtains, with his 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


123 


head buried in his hands, but now he tot- 
tered towards her, as she opened her arms to 
receive him, laid his head upon her shoulder, 
and wept like a child. Poor Papa ! '' she 
repeated over and over, so tenderly putting 
back his hair — it had turned white as snow 
in that moment of horror — that he looked 
up into her face with a sudden dread that 
her mind was wandering. But she was only 
stunned. Together the father and daughter 
went down into the room where they had 
laid Frederick. Hours had passed over Mar- 
garet in that deathlike swoon, and now the 
softly flushed light of dawn was coming in 
through the unclosed windows, and as she 
put back the sheet which had been thrown 
over the corpse, it lay full upon the ghastly 
face, revealing the deep gash in the cheek, 
and the fearful scowl on the brow, which 
even death's hand had not smoothed away. 
Mr. Hamilton shuddered as he gazed ; he 
could scarce repress the cry of anguish that 


124 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


rose to his lips, and wondered at Margaret^s 
pale tranquillity. But for the exceeding 
mournfulness of her eyes, brimming with un- 
shed tears, he would have thought her too 
bewildered even to feel. She was not that, 
but the certainty of his awful doom, his 
eternity of woe, wrapped her in too blank a 
feeling of horror to be expressed ; and yet, 
“ It is just ! it is just,'' kept ringing in her 
heart, an unspoken tribute to the outraged 
majesty of God, a protest against any wild 
questioning of Providence which might flit 
through her tortured mind. Mar£:aret, 
dear ! Do not look so strange," said her 
father at last, drawing her away. Come 
and rest ! Let us go from this fearful 
sight ! " As if it could be shut out by closed 
doors, or driven away by sleep ! It was be- 
fore Margaret day and night for months. 

Where is Alice ? " she asked, I mubi 
go to her now. Try and rest, Papa, I will 
come to you again.^' 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 125 

Alice was pacing her chamber, moaning, 
and wringing her hands in uncontrollable woe. 
She would not be comforted. No words that 
Margaret could speak would soothe her ; 
there was little indeed of comfort in them, 
for what hope was there to give ? She felt 
too utterly desolate herself to do more than 
win her to rest by the gentlest caressing. 
It did its work at last, that tender touch 
of hands and lips to the hot feverish brow 
of the widowed girl, and she slept from very 
exhaustion. Margaret could not do that, 
she felt that others must be thought of be- 
fore self. With a slow, firm step, as if 
nerved for all that might come, she crossed 
the hall to Hortense's chamber. Her night 
lamj) was still burning, the curtains of her 
bed undrawn. She put them back, to see 
the dark cold face, haughtier and more scorn- 
ful now that the proud will which kept eveiy 
nerve in subjection was at rest. They were 
fiee now, and the thin lips moved, and the 


11 * 


126 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


lieavy brows contracted, as if with some 
troubled sleeping fancy. Margaret thought 
she was at last touched, that her icy nature 
was at last thawed, and scarce conscious of 
her act, grasped one jewelled hand that lay 
on the counterpane. 0 Hortense ! Is it 
not awful ? Are you not sorry for your 
Papa ? That thought was uppermost, 
tlirough all to make her father happier. Mrs. 
Hamilton's eyes unclosed, and then her face 
wore its usual impenetrable look. 

Marguerite, why did you wake me ? I 
can be of no use, nor you either. Let the 
servants attend to Frederick. I am sure 
while he was alive he did not overwhelm us 
with attentions. Go to bed, child 1 go to 
bed ! " She turned away, and composed 
herself to sleep again. 

A sudden stilling of her heart, then a 
quickening throb that sent the blood madly 
through every vein, and Margaret's calmness 
was broken down. At last the tears came. 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


127 


a little burning flood, but it was better tban 
the rigidity that was settling on her pale 
young face. She fled to her own room, and 
barring the door, knelt there before the cross, 
and the Mother of sorrows, sobbing but those 
two dear names, Jesus ! Mary ! It was 
the prayer of a bruised human heart, and 
He who cried aloud in his bitter agony, and 
she who stood in speechless sorrow at the 
foot of His cross, refused not to hear. Other 
words were needless, they were more power- 
ful than all others could have been, and 
Margaret, kneeling there, asking nothing, 
but only clinging in her helplessness to the 
feet of Jesus, felt strength returning, and 
calmness, and the quiet thoughtfulness for 
others, which had for a while been stifled by 
selflsh grief. She went to her father again, 
and then for the first time noticed the change 
that one night had made, the whitened hair, 
and the lines ploughed in his forehead, and 
the helpless weakness of his gait. He looked 


128 


SUDDEN RETIUBUTION 


as if years of desolation had passed over 
him. 

All that long bright May-day, while the 
sun gladdened the earth, and the soft wind 
was busy unfurling the leaves, M-argaret and 
her father, and Alice, sat together sharing 
and soothing as best they might each other’s 
sorrows. Hortense came in once or twice, 
but did not stay long ; it was no place for 
her, that still, darkened chamber, with its 
stricken mourners, and whenever Aliyas bursts 
of passionate grief were calmed, and Mr. 
Hamilton forgot in the sleep he so much 
needed, that death was his guest, Margaret 
went down to look at her brother, and weep 
in hopeless sorrow over him. But never for 
a moment doubting that he had carved out 
his own awful destiny, never forgetting that 
his own hand had sent his sin-laden soul 
before the tribunal of God, or that it was 
more just to deplore the outrage he had of- 
fered the Deity in madly casting back the 


SUDDEN RETRIBUTION. 


129 


boon of life, than the injury he had dune 
himself. All this was distinct in thought 
and belief, and yet human feeling could not 
keep back the mournful cry, 0 brother ! 
brother ! 

And so the day went by slowly and wearily 
enough. In the evening, when Margaret 
went to Hortense, she was trying on her 
mourning dress. It was really a provok- 
ing thing for Fred to do,” she said petu- 
kintly ; I look like a mulatto in black, but 
thank goodness, he is only a stepson, and 
I need not wear it long.” 


VIII. 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 

The funeral was over. Wondering ac- 
quaintances had come and sat in the dark- 
ened parlor^ and a few more intimate friends 
had, with unavailing kindness, tried to 
comfort Alice and Margaret, and an Epis- 
copalian minister had spoken long, and 
perhaps, to other ears, eloquently, upon the 
uncertain tenure of life. But Margaret was 
thinking all the while of a grand, solemn, 
funeral service, full of mystic meaning ; the 
sorrowful but not hopeless cry of the Mise- 
rere ; the incense mounting like prayer ; 
the blessed lights, and above all, the ^^Lamb 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 


131 


without stain/' offered up as a victim of 
propitiation for the departed soul, and to 
her the finely rounded sentences were very 
cold and meaningless. Why speak of the 
blessed hereafter/' as if he who lay in his 
coffinj stark and cold, had any claim to 
that ; as if they who wept for him were like 
them to whom the apostle said, Mourn 
not like those who have no hope." Almost 
sick at heart, she turned away. 

But, it was all over now. The hearse 
bad borne its lifeless burden to the grave ; 
the long line of carriages had dispersed, 
and the mourners were once more at home. 
How bleak and dreary it seemed ! Alice, 
worn out with grief, went to sleep very 
soon ; Mr. Hamilton was like a child in 
Margaret's hands. She soothed him into 
quietude, and as Hortense had gone to her 
own room, was left alone to face the desola^ 
tion that seemed gathering around. A 
weight had suddenly fallen upon her spirits, 


132 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 


SO crushing their lightness and mirth, that 
she felt they could never again be so buoy- 
ant. Years could not have given that 
young heart more experience, or a clearer 
insight into the circumstances of life, tliar 
those few hours of intense sutfering ; noi 
could all the wisdom or philosophy of this 
world have so nerved her to bear the heavy 
load being lain upon her shoulders, as her 
silent, helpless clinging to the cross. Her 
faith was the only bright spot in the cloudy 
sky, the only island in the raging waters ; 
and, as it had been in prosperity the very 
sunlight of her life, the source of all her 
happy light-heartedness, so now, in the hour 
of adversity, it was her only comfort, her 
only hope. 

One day, about a week after her brother’s 
death, Margaret sat alone in the back room, 
which had always been her favorite haunt. 
The piano had been closed since that fata) 
night, and the flowers she had held in hei 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. IHS 

hand, when Etienne led her there, still lay 
on the floor, withered and scentless. Mr. 
Lamar had just told her good-bye, perhaps 
for ever, as he had said once before ; and 
she was wearily folding up the woik she 
had been busy with, for it was the hour at 
which she usually visited the cathedral. 
Before she was done, her father came in 
with a wdld, haggard look, that reminded 
her of her dead brother. 

Papa, are you ill ? Has any thing 
happened ? was her hurried greeting. 
He passed his hand over his forehead, with 
a bewildered air, saying, bitterly, ‘^It has 
come at last ! Margaret, it has come ! Do 
not leave me ! '' He grasped her hand, as 
if fearful she would go. 

am not going away, papa. Tell me 
wdiat troubles you ? 

Oh ! I am ruined, child ! To-morrow, 
there are thousands of dollars due ; bills to 
be paid that I cannot put off, and here is 


12 


134 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


all I have.” He dashed a handful of gold 
coins on the floor, and trampled upon them 
as he strode up and down with faltering 
step. Oh ! fool that I have been, to 
lavish and waste on Horten se, and keep 
nothing for you. Margaret, she will never 
be able to bear this. What shall I do ? ” . 

Whatever is most just, papa ! Have 
you not property enough to satisfy youi 
creditors ? ” 

No. All that is worth any thing is 
gone. I have sold it by piecemeal, with the 
vain hope of warding off this calamity, and 
to gratify Hortense’s whims. I have never 
had courage to refuse her any thing. 
Every costly bauble she craved, I have 
given ; every extravagant desire I have 
gratified; and then, Frederick, sometimes 
by frank avowals of his degrading situation, 
sometimes by forging my name to notes, 
which I paid, rather than expose him, 
helped to drain the coffers that Hortense, in 


THE on ASH ADViHlSITY. 


135 


her insolent pride, still thinks full lo the 
brim. 

I have absolutely nothing, Margaret, 
but those few petty hundreds, and some 
lots in the western part of the city. They 
will be worth an immense sum in a few 
years ; but I must give them up, I sup- 
pose.^' 

And there is the homestead, papa, and 
this home with the furniture, surely altoge- 
ther will be enough to pay your debts/' 

You have no idea of their amount, 
dear. It will not do. Do you think, child, 
I would suffer them to touch the homestead.^ 
It has been yours for years ; they cannot 
suspect me of the meanness of giving it to 
you now, to save it from tlie general wreck. 
No ! no ! It shall not be touched." 

Oh ! papa, indeed, I care little for it, 
if it will help you. Let them take all, 
papa ; it is but just. We will be happier 
without the wealth that makes so much 


136 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 


misery and distrust in the world. You 
and I, papa, can surely make a comfortable 
living for Alice and Hortense. You do not 
know how I can work, papa."' 

“ Hortense ! " he exclaimed, with a bit- 
ter laugh. She will never consent to 
leave this house for an humbler one ; to 
pass day after day in the dull monotony 
of duty. Margaret, you are a noble- 
hearted girl, and cannot understand hei 
nature. Even I, after years of experience, 
can never believe it as callous and ungrate- 
ful as it seems. She will not offer to give 
up that which she may lawfully claim, as 
you have done. Mark me, child ! she will 
say this house and all its glittering gew- 
gaws are hers. 

Oh ! the terrible disgrace of this 
failure ! If I could but have avoided it ! " 
h-e added, vehemently. have seen it 

coming for mmths, Margaret, and have 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 137 

tried to defer it, at least for your sake. 
All this sorrow will so darken your life.” 

^^No, papa,” she said, quietly. ^^The light 
of life does not come from exterior causes. 
Do not be sorry for me. I shall bear it very 
well. Only I hope you will be able to do 
justice to all.” 

He shook his head despondingly, while 
she stooped to gather up the scattered gold. 

Margaret,” he said, after a moment's 
silence, will you go to Hortense for me ? 
Tell her all, dear * do not palliate the evil. 
Perhaps it will waken her up.” She saw 
that in spite of his assurance to the contrary, 
he still hoped this dark hour of affliction 
would prove his wife not unworthy of all 
the affection he had lavished upon her, and 
with a silent kiss she left him, to try her 
utmost to stir up Hortense's stagnant feel- 
ings, if that was at all possible. 

Mrs. Hamilton was listlessly turning over 
the fashion plates of a magazine when she 


12 * 


138 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


entered her room. Marguerite ! what have 
you been doing all the morning ? Come 
and see these lovely styles. Is not that man- 
tle graceful ? It would suit you to perfec- 
tion ; but I suppose they will not come 
out for mourning. I have been to Wade’s 
to-day, ordering a beautiful piece of India 
muslin for you — you can’t wear heavy 
mourning in summer — and it will be very 
becoming trimmed with black. What does 
Mr. Hamilton say about taking us to Nia- 
gara next month.” 

Nothing. But I know there is no 
possibility of his doing so,” said Margaret. 

Hortense, put that away for a moment, I 
want to tell you something. Do you know 
that papa has lost every thing he is worth 
in the world ? To-morrow his name will 
be blazoned over the city as a bankrupt.” 

She spoke abruptly, hoping to startle 
Mrs. Hamilton. But the dark face was 
peifectly still. bankrupt? Well, 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


139 


fchat certainly is a pretty pass to come to 1 
What is he going to do now ? 

Oh ! Hortense, what can he do but 
give up all he has, and be at least just in 
as much as he can ; and then, with our 
assistance, begin the world anew. He is 
very old for that,"" she added, with a si^. 

If I could prevent this necessity ; if my 
unceasing labor could procure him rest for 
the years that remain, I would be indeed 
blessed."" 

That is just like your usual romance, 
Marguerite,"" said Hortense, scornfully. 

Well, I shall not do that. He had no busi- 
ness marrying again if he could not support 
a wife. One blessing ! This house is niiine ; 
it was bought in my name, and the furni- 
ture too ; so they, of course, cannot be 
touched. And the homestead is yours, but 
the rent of that will only support you in 
very democratic style. And what will I do? 
^ declare it is abominable !"" 


140 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


Yes, the house is yours ! said Marga 
ret, with a sorrowful glauce around the 
spacious and gorgeous chamber. It was 
papa's marriage gift, was it not ? " 

The proud woman winced under Marga- 
ret's unconscious irony. Hortense," she 
said, presently, ^^come and tell papa that 
you do not care very much about it. We 
have all helped to ruin him. There has 
been too much extravagance." 

Did he say that ? " interrupted Mrs. 
Hamilton, quickly. 

‘‘Can you not see that there has been.? " 
asked Margaret. “ Thousands spent for 
our dress, for parties and pleasures that 
were called such, but were really none. 
And then, Fred ! " she added, with a burst 
of tears. “ Hortense, if you have a heart 
at all, you must feel for papa now. Come 
to him ! " She seized her hand eagerly, 
and would have led her to the door. 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


141 


Noj Marguerite. It is his place to coiee 
to me ; I have never wronged him. '' 

She saw it was a hopeless task ; her en- 
treaties would be of no avail, and she went 
down again with an expression on her face 
that told her father her ill success, before 
her words confirmed it. 

Never mind, dear, he said, as if worn 
out with long-enduring suffering. You 
are iny all now ! Go and walk, Margaret, 
it is very pleasant out. 

Can I not do any thing for you, papa ? 

Not now, '' he answered with a kind of 
quiet resignation that had become habitual, 
I can do nothing myself yet, I must rest. ” 
There was but one walk she cared to take, 
one point to which her heart was attracted, 
the dark old church ; and there she went, 
huirying through the few thronged squarea 
she had to traverse on Fourth street, and up 
the less frequented ones on Sycamore, as one 
bent on a mission of life and death. She 


142 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 


longed to be within those consecrated walls— 
shut in from all the grief and anxiety that 
had so suddenly come upon her. And wlien 
safe there, kneeling on the steps without the 
rail, she wept such tears as a grieved child 
might shed in the arms of its best friend. 
She was alone with her Friend, without 
thought of any other presence, and in spirit 
laying her aching head on his adorable breast, 
she sobbed herself into quietude. It was 
rest indeed ! And more than the deepest 
repose ; for after the gush of tears, the al- 
most uttered cry of pain, came the full tide 
of consolation. It was as if she had been 
folded in so close an embrace that she could 
feel every pulsation of his mighty heart, as 
if his divine lips had been pressed upon her 
brow, and stilled for ever its feverish throl)- 
bings ; as if the voice which awes into si- 
lence the angelic choirs of heaven was sooth- 
ing her in low, tender accents. Those few 
swift-passing moments of intense delight, 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


143 


were cheaply purchased by the trials she had 
gone through, and when she rose to go, it 
was with a conviction that years of torture 
would not be too much to win such peace 
again. She could face, now, the seemingly 
impenetrable darkness before her. The 
dreary life, the weight of care, she felt must 
hereafter rest upon her. 


The announcement of Mr. Hamilton’s fail- 
tire created a sensation which would not be 
understood now. Such things were not the 
every day occurrence ; men had not grown 
perfectly shameless in their robberies ; there 
were no so-called bankers filling their pock- 
ets with the wages of honest laborers, and 
leaving instead, empty vaults and worthless 
bonds ; no merchants revelling in princely 
pomp, while those whom they defrauded, 
dragged out lives of want and misery. Pearl 


144 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


street was iti an uproar, and the fashionable 
romenades on Fourth had quite an exciting 
heme for conversation. 

Mr. Hamilton, writhing under the roereet 
glance he met, shunned every one as much 
as possible, and even Hortens e, with all her 
insolence, felt it necessary to keep the house 
for a few days. But, at last, it became an 
old thing, — wonder and surprise died out. 
The creditors met, and took all that was to 
be had, scarce more than half of their dues ; 
for the homestead and the house they occu- 
pied were legally exempted, and her father 
would not suffer Margaret to give up the 
little that she possessed ; and when all was 
settled, she, with the energy that had been 
so unexpectedly called into existence, regu- 
lated things anew. The houseshold servants 
were dismissed, all the plate which had be^ 
longed to her mother sold to pay their wages, 
and jewelry, which she had seldom worn and 
never cared for, disposed of, to meet their 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


145 


daily expenses. Hortense was not at all 
satisfied with these new arrangements ; they 
were “ preposterous and absurd, and 
ghe seemed disposed to question Margaret's 
right to act the mistress in her house , " 

But, Hortense, I have touched nothing 
of yours, I have not interfered with your 
comfort. We must have food, and there is 
no way of procuring it just now but that I 
have taken. And why keep servants when 
we have not a farthing to pay them ? " was 
Margaret's answer to her complaints. 

Mrs. Hamilton did not contradict her, 
but was silent and gloomy for days. She 
came to her husband and Margaret one day, 
while they were talking over their prospects. 
Mr. Hamilton was growing more resigned; 
seeing things in a pleasanter light, as Mar- 
garet's cheerful disposition was removing, 
one by one, the seeming difficulties in his 
way. 

First of all, papa," Margaret was say- 


13 


146 


THE CRASH — AD\ERSITY. 


ing, when Mrs. Hamilton came in, 
must do our best to pay every cent you 
owe. I am sure I can find out some way 
of making money, and we can live on very 
little. Poor Ally was saying to-day, she 
wished she was strong enough to work too ; 
but she must not do that. I can do he’’ 
share and mine too ; and if you take the 
clerkship they have offered you, that salary, 
which will be a certainty, can all be laid 
by towards paying your debts. Oh ! we’ll 
have a nice time. All be as busy as bees. 
We won’t care a snap for fashionable society, 
will we Hortense ? ” 

Mrs. Hamilton was silent, but her lip 
curled. ^‘At least,” continued Margaret, 
with the bright glow of enthusiasm lighting 
up her beautiful face, at least we will 
not care for parties, and concerts, and such 
things. Of course, Hortense, we will al- 
ways be glad to see our friends ; but as we 
cannot entertain them as we used to, they 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


147 


will hardly expect us to frequent their 
[)arties/' 

Mrs. Hamilton laughed. I don^t think, 
Miss Simplicity, that your fashionable 
friends will trouble you much. I hope you 
have other society to depend upon/" 

Oh ! yes/" she answered ; there are 
plenty of pleasant people going to the 
cathedral, who never visit the Lanmans and 
Stanleys, and that set. I like them the 
better for it."" 

Mr. Hamilton,"" said Hortense, when 
Margaret had finished, I have been con- 
sidering the ways and means of getting 
along since your failure, and I see but one 
course likely to bring comfort to either of 
us. I think we had better separate, each 
going as it may seem fit. We have never 
been romantically in love, so neither will 
feel the other"8 loss. I will go to New 
York for the summer, and rent the house-— 
indeed the Stanleys have already engaged 


148 


THE CRASH — ADVERSITY. 


it — and that will be something for me to 
depend upon. You and Margaret and 
Alice, with fewer wants will have quite as 
much — the homestead. I intend leaving 
Cincinnati in three weeks, and have told 
you thus early that you may make what- 
ever arrangements you think proper.'^ It 
was all spoken in her quiet measured tones ; 
not a tremor in the clear voice, not a sha- 
dow of feeling in the cold face. Margaret 
was thunderstruck ; she could scarcely be- 
lieve she heard aright, or that Hortense was 
in earnest. And yet, it was a strange way 
of jesting. 

Have I heard all ? asked Mr. Hamil- 
ton, slowly. Is it a divorce you want, 
Hortense ? 

I merely said a separation,'’ she an^ 
swered ; but of course a divorce would be 
better. There is so little congeniality in 
our dispositions, that even if prosperity 
returned, I hardly think we would care to 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 149 

resume our present connection. It is better 
that we should both be free.'" 

It is because I am unfortunate, then, 
tliat you leave me ! Because I am poor 
and heart-broken, and need a friend, that 
you desert me ! Let me speak, Margaret,'* 
he continued, as she bent over him, and 
her tears fell fast upon his face. I will 
do any thing you wish, Horten se. I do 
not object to a divorce ; but you know I 
have nothing to settle upon you.’* 

do not ask it/' she said. Of course 
you can all stay here until I go. But the 
Stanleys wish to come in as soon as possible 
after that. I will see you again, I suppose.. 
This week I spend in Newport, and the 
next with Bertha Lanman." 

Mr. Hamilton sat quite still until the 
last sound of her footsteps died on the stair- 
way ; and then, springing up, with a loud 
cry, Margaret ! Margaret ! she has killed 
me ! " fell in convulsions at her feet. 


13 * 


150 


THE CRASH ADVERSITY. 


It was more than a week before he could 
leave his room after that most heartless 
proceeding of Hortense's, and then he ’was 
but a wreck of himself ; his intellect was 
impaired, his health broken down. And 
Margaret had shed more bitter tears in 
that one week, than in all the years of her 
life before. But for the sweet knowledge 
of God's providence, His watchful care, 
His tender love, she would have been ut- 
terly crushed. She had to think and act 
/or others now ; for neither her father nor 
Alice were fit to do so, and that kept mind 
and hands busy. The divorce was procured, 
upon what plea she never cared to know, but 
it was not efiected just then, not until later 
in the summer, when Margaret had crossed 
the threshold of her new self-sacrificing life. 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


They went back to the old homestead in 
the glowing days of June, Margaret and her 
father and Alice, the three bound close to 
each other by the sorrows that had fallen 
upon them. There was a wild beauty in the 
place ; the grass high and thickly matted ; 
the purple and crimson and pale pink ver- 
benas, long free from bondage, running 
through it as they willed, some braver than 
the rest peeping up here and there as if to 
see what was going on around them ; the 
rose bushes weighed down by their luxurkint 
bloom ; the honey- suckles climbing recklessly 


152 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME, 


over fences and porches and up to second 
story windows ; and, above all, the old stately 
trees shading with a dreamy glare the long- 
deserted paths. The shadowy light was in- 
doors too, for the dust of months had accu- 
mulated upon the windows, and spiders had 
hung their airy drapery from every nook and 
corner. The ashes of the year gone by were 
on the hearths, and over the floors where the 
frolicsome March winds had tossed them 
when the last occupants left ; and shut in 'an 
the house was from the busy thoroughfares 
of the city, so far back from the very street 
on which it was situated, that passing vehi- 
cles could scarce be heard, it seemed like 
some ruin of olden times, desolate and de- 
cayed. Alice shuddered and said, ^^It is 
very dreary here. 

Taking a hand of each as if leading two 
weary children, Margaret took them into a 
room which she had had cleaned and fur- 
nislied. It was one her mother had used, a 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


153 


bright, cheerful apartment, in the south- 
western corner of the house, with windows 
opening on both sides, so that the winter sun 
Btrearaed in the whole day long, and in sum- 
mer when the western shutters were un- 
closed, it sent its flaming light, softened by 
the shadows of the trees, athwart the floor. 
It lay there now in many a broken band, 
and shed an upward halo upon the walla 
with their dark oak wainscoting and cor- 
nices, just as when Margaret w^as a child, 
dancing after the sparkling moths, that ever 
eluded her grasp. The old piano stood in 
its accustomed place, the queer heavy table 
with twisted legs at which they had read in 
those days, and which Hortense had de- 
clared a monstrosity, stood in the centre of 
the room, and over the mantlepiece and 
against the opposite walls hung tw^o pic- 
tures, Mr. Hamilton's gifts to his dear wife. 
One a St. John Chrysostom, painted by an 
old man with genius enough to have won 


154 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


renown had the world smiled upon him. 
That it did not is little matter to him now, 
for he sleeps the sleep of death, and the 
cross that is planted upon his grave is an 
emblem of that he bore so bravely through 
life. Many a time Margaret had sat at his 
knee and listened in silent wonder to his 
tremulous voice as he spoke of his youth and 
manhood, and now, whenever she looked 
upon his work and recalled his broken words 
and sighs, she fancied he must have painted 
it, in some hour when the high hope of 
heaven had softened without obliterating 
earthly sorrow. There was a tender glow in 
the dark coloring of the picture, a sad sweet- 
ness in the lips, giving a mournful expression 
to that noble face, which the holy light in the 
deep'Set eyes, and the majestic calmness of 
the brow, could not change. 

The other was her own portrait, a joyous 
child, tossing among flowers scarce brighter 
than herself, with laughter dimpling her 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


155 


glowing face, and the showers of golden hair 
swept back as if by the wind. They faced 
each other, the pictured semblance of the 
glorious saint of past ages, whose hair had 
grown white in the service of God, and who 
now. knelt at His footstool in the rapturous 
bliss of that beatific vision, and the child 
unsullied by sin, unsaddened by care. And 
between them stood the living Margaret, 
meek in her sorrow as she had been untaint- 
ed by prosperity. Immense as was the dis- 
tance between them, there was an invisi- 
ble link connecting the beatified saint in 
heaven and the lowly but true-hearted girl 
upon earth. One Faith, one Father, and 
one God ! Perchance it was this thought 
that gave Margaret such sweet placidity, as 
she stood amid the relics of by-gone happi- 
ness, with her helpless father clinging to one 
hand, and her broken-hearted sister to the 
other. 

She had brought in flowers early in the 


156 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


afternoon. Many-colored roses, dark, blood- 
red, and pale maiden blushes, and the 
rich full-shaded one, between whose fra- 
grance and beauty are things to wonder 
at and love ; starry jessamines, and clus- 
ters of heliotrope ; and had loaded the 
table with the books her father best loved, 
and on the low stand put a tiny work- 
basket, with the gossamer embroidery. 
Ally's fingers were so often busy with. 
Nothing was wanting, not even the worn 
footstools, and the lamp, with its white 
shade covered with vine leaves and grapes, 
which had been there five years before, and 
which Margaret had stowed away as pre- 
cious things. 

When Mr. Hamilton sat down in the 
chair she had placed for him, and bent over 
a book, and Alice, more worn with love 
than fatigue, lay white and motionless on 
the sofa, she stole out into the garden to 
be alone for a little while. The soft pur- 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


157 


pie twilight was floating down like a veil 
over the bright face of day, and to Margaret 
it seemed she would thenceforth walk 
through life, in as dim and chastened a light. 
No more unshadowed sunshine for her ; 
never again such a tempest as had just spent 
its fury on her path. She was content that 
this, or whatever else the good God willed, 
should be ; and yet, as she walked to and 
fro beneath the alanthus trees, and listened 
to the rising wind in their branches, her 
very heart sank within her, and the tears 
so long repressed for the sake of others, 
would be no longer kept back, and with 
her arms clasped around an old tree, be- 
neath which her mother had often sat, and 
her face pressed against its rough bark, she 
cried until the quiet stars looked down 
upon her through the leaves. One uncon- 
trollable burst of grief and then the sorely- 
tried heart was lifted up to its only Friend, 


14 


158 


TUE CHILDUOOD HOME. 


and its throbbings were calmed as she 
thought of His long agony in Gethsemani. 

Ob, wondrous love of the Incarnate 
Word 1 How many a human spirit is 
upborne on the dark waters of woe, by a 
glance at the olive garden, and the judg- 
ment hall, and the rugged steep of Calvary ! 

Margaret dried her eyes, and putting 
back the hair that had fallen over her face, 
went into the house again. Tea was un- 
tasted that night, and the lamp was nol 
lit. The three sat close together in the 
shadow, while the moonlight streamed into 
the middle of the floor ; Margaret alone 
speaking a few quiet, consoling words. 

There w^as work to be done the next 
day ; the house to be cleared of rubbish, 
and plans made for the future. Early in 
the morning, Margaret, with their one ser* 
vant, for they were now too poor to keep 
more, began her task. The whole house 
was gone through, the week's work allotted 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


159 


to the maid, and the few rooms they could 
afford to furnish, selected. And then Mar- 
garet, flushed from her exertions, started to 
Hortense^s to pack the few things she had 
left in her room. 

There was but a few streets to cross tc 
he there, but leagues of land could not have 
/veparated the occupants of the two homes 
more completely. The carriage was at the 
door when she got there, and Hortense in 
her travelling dress stood in the hall giving 
orders. 

Marguerite,^' she said, I am glad you 
have come. I wish you would have your 
things moved, for the auctioneer will he 
here to-morrow to take an inventory, and 
it is better to have them out of the way. 
I am just starting to New York with the 
Wilsons." 

Margaret burst into tears ; she could not 
aelp it, and Hortense seemed a little moved, 
only a little. Marguerite, I did not think 


160 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


you car(3d so much for me. Why not come 
wfdi me ? I will wait a day or two for 
you/' 

She could not speak, but her sad, re- 
proachful look more than answered Mrs. 
Hamilton. Well, then, good-bye ! Don't 
forget to lock your door, if you leave any 
thing in the room." 

O f 

Margaret went slowly up the stairs, still 
weeping, and almost mechanically emptied 
wardrobes and filled up trunks. One of 
the servants, the only one who remained to 
attend to the sale of Hortense's furniture, 
offered to assist her in packing, but she 
gently declined, and did it all herself ; and 
w’hen the car she had sent for came, and 
took aFay her trunks and the few articles 
of furniture she possessed, she hastily 
glanced at the beautiful and costly things 
her father had collected with such care, 
scattered in confusion every where, and 
went, hoping neve*, again to cross the 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


161 


threshold of that, ill-starred house. She 
was veiy tired that night, and slept too 
soundly even to dream, and it was so for a 
week afterwards ; her days being spent 
amid new household duties, and her even- 
xUgs ill amusing Alice and her father 
The rooms on the first floor were at last 
fitted up in a very simple, unostentatious 
style, and Margaret began to think of some 
way of earning a subsistence. Her father 
could do nothing, but was rather a drag 
upon her, monopolizing her time and atten- 
tion as entirely as he could. H^was grow- 
ing more imbecile every day, and depended 
helplessly on her exertions. It gave her 
strength and courage. One day after her 
morning's work was done, the rooms tilled 
with fresh flowers. Ally's pillows arranged 
on the sofa, and her work-stand beside it, 
and her father seated at his books, she went 
to pay her usual visit to the Cathedral. It 
was her only resting place ; there alone was 
14 * 


162 


THK CHILDHOOD HOMfi 


tlie load of care laid down, and the eweet 
feeling of repose enjoyed. She had deter- 
mined upon taking a school ; many of her 
fashionable acquaintances lived in the neigh- 
borhood of her present home, and she hoped 
they would be willing to trust their children 
to her ; and with a very fervent prayer for 
success she left the Church, to go in search 
of scholars. Her hopes were this time real- 
ized. No one could refuse the request so 
meekly made by the daughter of the once 
aristocratic Robert Hamilton, but each won- 
dered exceedingly that she had courage to 
make it. Wondered that she who had been 
80 courted and admired could be content 
in the lowly sphere she was henceforth to 
move in. 

Margaret knew not, neither would she 
have cared, had she known their thoughts, 
but went home at noon with something of 
the old sparkling happiness in her face, to 
tell Alice she had the promise of at least a 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


163 


dozen scholars. ‘‘ Only think, Ally dear/* 
she said, what a time I will have with 
such a lot of little folks about me 1 

They came the next day, little girls and 
boys, none older than ten, and some scarce 
four. Margaret gathered all the low chairs 
and stools she had, and sat with the bright- 
eyed children grouped around her. And so 
it continued through all the long summer. 
That quaint old school-room would have 
made a lovely picture. There was no stiff 
rows of desks and benches, no blackboard, 
nor any paraphernalia of learning, but al- 
ways a profusion of fragrant flowers, always 
gushes of sunshine, and the musical murmur 
of sweet young voices. Margaret generally 
sat on a low stool in the centre of the room, 
surrounded by her pets, for they had soon 
become so ; some reading from the book she 
held ; some conning spelling lessons that 
seemed wonderfuj performances when they 
were learned ; and others, the youngest of 


164 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


the band, dancing in and out as then 
willed, pelting each other with roses, or in 
the height of a romp stopping to steal the 
comb from the fair Mistresses head, and 
laugh merrily when the heavy masses of 
hair fell down over neck and shoulders, and 
swept the floor with its rings of gold. It 
was not the least of their enjoyment that 
she had to cease her patient teaching and 
gather it up again, nor was it a very hard 
penance to be seated close beside her, their 
little light heads nestling against her, until 
some new whim w^ould make them forget 
they had been so sweetly reproved. 

And so the summer passed away, and the 
autumn, with its golden haze and brilliant 
skies, and the cold dreary wdnter, set in 
Alice had never reco\Wed from the shock 
her health and nerves had sustained, and 
now, although her cheeks w^ere flushed at 
times, and her soft eyes brighter than they 
had ever been, Margaret knew it was but 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


165 


the autumn glory betokening decay. She 
was quietly nerving her heart to bear the new 
trial. One evening she had taken a short 
walk, and returned to find Alice weeping 
passionately over a book she held. It was 
one of those simple, touching little French 
books which we see so often now, but which 
were very rare in those days. 

Margaret had brought it from Nazareth 
with her, and had taken it from her desk 
that morning, to look again over the fa- 
miliar plates illustrating the gentle tender- 
ness with which Jesus leads his weary, flag- 
ging followers over the sharp rocks and 
frightful precipices in their path. 

Dear Alice, you must not cry so, you 
will make yourself ill. Sit down here and 
tell me how you like my book. Is it not 
very sweet ? 

0 ! it is wrhat I have wanted so long/' 
she exclaimeil, with a fresh burst of tears. 

Margaret, we never had such things in the 


166 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


cold, formal faith I was reared in. There k 
nothing so tender in it; all it can do for a 
suffering, fainting heart is to encase it in ice 
It shows us the Saviour so immeasurably 
above us, that we dare not throw ourselves 
into his arms ; it hides all the human ten- 
derness that is so very alluring in Him. 
The very thought of it is something to rest 
upon."’ 

Margaret bent down her head, and a Te 
unheard by earthly ears, went up from 
her full heart to the throne of God. 

‘‘Margaret, do you know that I have 
watched you ever since I first knew you, and 
have wondered what made you so different 
from other people. I can guess now. 0, I 
must be a Catholic. I have not long to 
live, and it would be terrible to think my 
future life would not compensate for the 
sorrow of this. I must get to heaven if 
only for the sake of enjoying your company," 
She was smiling through her tears now. 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


167 


It was all they said on the subject then, 
for Alice grew too weak to talk, and Mr. 
Hamilton came in and claimed Margaret' 
attention. But the next day the bishop 
came to see them, as he had often done of 
late, and while walking down the long path 
with him, Margaret told him Ally's wish. 
He sent her books to read, and came sev- 
eral times a week to give her instructions 
after that. He discovered that her belief 
in Protestantism had long since been shaken, 
that it was but her shrinking, timid nature 
had kept her from avowing it before. Her 
heart, softened by sorrow, had been won at 
last by the sweetness of that little book, 
and she was soon prepared for baptism. 
The day on which she received it, and made 
her first communion also, was the last on 
which she was able to sit up ; she faded 
away, day by day, without pain or sickness, 
and when Christmas came, and she watched 
Margaret decking a tree for her little echo- 


168 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


lars, she smiled and said, Next Christmas 
I shall sing the Gloria in heaven. 

The last day of December came. An- 
other year had passed, another page in the 
book of life stained with tears and blotted 
with sin, was written in indelible characters. 
The bishop had said mass for them that 
morning, and given Alice the Viaticum, and 
to gratify the sick girl, the altar, with its 
white drapery, and evergreen deckings, was 
left standing. It was in the pleasant sun- 
shiny room they used so constantly, for to 
the last Alice kept her place there amid 
Margaret's little pupils. But this day there 
was no murmur of childish voices, but a 
solemn hush, and a dim light only suffered 
to steal through the closed blinds. Alice 
liked it so. And now in the deepening 
gloom, herself only a darker shadow amid the 
shadows which the flickering firelight made, 
Margaret recalled the scenes of that vanish- 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 169 

ing year. Alice lay on the lounge, her un- 
naturally' bright eyes fixed upon the altar, 
and her lips moving as if in prayer. 

Margaret, she said, after a while, do 
you remember this time last year ? And 
Hortense's prophecy ? I would like to see 
her once more. Did she ever return from 
the East ? 

I think not, I have never seen her since 
she left ! '' 

Well, write to her after I am dead, 
Margaret, and tell her I forgave her all the 
wrong she ever did me. I never spoke of 
it to you, but Frederick told me that it was 
she who first prompted him to marry me 
for my worthless money. I used to think 
it a terrible wrong, a cruel, heartless thing, 
to lead me into such a marriage, and I am 
afraid I sometimes feel very desirous of re- 
venge. But not now, that is all gone. Tell 
her so, dear Margaret ! Come and kiss me 


15 


^70 


THK CHILDHOOD HOME. 


Hovvj and let me thank you for all your kind- 
ness ! '' 

She folded her arms around Margaret's 
neek as she bent over her, and kissed her 
many times. Where is Papa ? " so she 
always called Mr. Hamilton. 

He is sleeping, Ally, shall I call him ? " 
*‘No, dear. Just help me to get up a 
fittle while, I feel so strong to-night. I 
think I can kneel long enough to say one 
little prayer ! Margaret was deceived by 
her voice. It was so clear and full she could 
not believe death was so near at hand, and 
taking the wasted girl in her arms, placed 
her gently upon a thick cushion, and sup- 
ported her while she knelt. 

1 am tired now, " she said, very soon, 
and rose, almost without assistance, and 
advanced a step or two towards the lounge. 
A sudden change passed over her face, the 
peaceful look gave place to one in which 
joy and fear were strangely blended^ and, 


THE CHILDHOOD HOME. 


17 } 


gnsping Margaret’s arm, she exclaimed, 
This must be death ! 0 Jesus ! Ma — ” 
Before that sweet mother’s name had left 
hei* lips she was dead, almost before Mar- 
garet had time to lay her back on her pillow 


x. 

A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 

At the homestead the New Year came 
in, hand in hand with death. It was a 
soTiowfin task for Margaret on that joyous 
day, to fold the grave clothes around Ally, 
and smooth back her soft fair hair from her 
forehead, and clasp her hands on her breast, 
and scatter over her the flowers she had 
watched so carefully through the cold wintry 
weather. Very sorrowful indeed, that not 
one of those who had been so profuse in 
their professions of friendship in the hey- 
day of wealth should be there now ; but 
Margaret was not utterly friendless. Some 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 173 


poor families in the neighborhood to whom 
she had been very kind, giving them 
gentle, encouraging words, when she had 
nothing else to bestow, came with their 
w’^elcome sympathy, and did what they could. 
When the funeral day arrived it brought 
many of those sunshine friends ; for very 
shame they could not stay away, and the 
humble Cathedral was graced (!) with the 
presence of many belonging to the fashion 
able world. Ally's was a very different 
funeral from her husband's, for with Mar- 
garet, faith lit up the darkness of sorrow, 
and the reqiiiescat in pace sounded strange- 
ly sweet to ears that were unused to its 
touching pathos. Margaret almost envied 
the sleeper that eternal rest, and the long 
sandy desert of years she would most likely 
have to traverse before reaching it, looked 
longer and drearier now. But there was a 
strength and intensity of devotion in that 
young heart, which few who saw her frail 


174 A STRAKGE VISIT.- -RITA. 

form would have guessed. Each new trial 
seemed but the loosening of another of 
those links binding her to earth. 

The days passed by, each monotonously 
like its predecessor. Winter died in the 
warm embrace of spring, and then followed 
the gorgeous summer, lingering until au- 
tumn exiled her ; and so it continued for 
years. In all this time Margaret heard 
nothing of Hortense, until one day in care- 
lessly glancing over a newspaper she saw 
the announcement of her marriage to some 
titled European. It so startled her that 
her very breath seemed suspended. Her 
father was in the room and noticed the 
sudden pallor that overspread her face, and 
asked if she was ill. She said not, and 
folding the paper, put it where he could 
not see it, until she had an opportunity of 
destroying it. There was no need of giv- 
ing a new blow to his already bruised 


A STRANGS VISIT. — RITA. 


175 


heart. Slie resolved to spare him this 
bitter knowledge. 

Margaret^s school increased’; still, how- 
ever, being composed of little ones, for as 
her scholars grew old enough to be placed 
ill higher classes, she dismissed them, and 
their younger brothers and sisters took their 
places. The school-room wore the same 
bright look ; decked with the sunshine and 
the flowers in summer, and in winter, lit 
up by the ruddy blaze in the fireplace ; but 
the fair mistress, seated amid the children, 
was not the Margaret of other days. Those 
years of patient toil, of unrepining resigna- 
tion, had subdued the gushing spirits and 
left their impress on her fair face. The 
brilliant flush of her cheeks had paled ; 
the lips, once so constantly parted with 
smiles, were sadly sweet and placid now, 
and the eyes, so overflowing with mirthful 
light, seemed deeper and darker for the 
shadows that had dimmed them. And yet 


176 


A STRANGE VISIT, RITA. 


Margaret was seldom sad, seldom looked 
back to the past with longing eye. She 
had no time for that. Her whole heart and 
soul were too wrapped up in the duties of 
the present to think much of those which 
could be of no avail now. To do what had 
to be done, to keep her heart from repining, 
and purify it day by day by the performance 
of those wearying duties that had fallen to 
her lot, was her sole desire now. Some- 
times, indeed, when the day was over, and 
the soft summer twilight, or the gray even- 
ing of winter, as it may be, set in, and her 
father dozed over his books, while her own 
fingers wandered over the piano keys, play - 
ing low rambling melodies lather to lull 
him than please her fancy, she would take 
lier stand in spirit upon some high point 
of view, and gaze down through the valley’ 
of departed years upon the joys and sorrow.s 
she had left for ever behind. It was rather 
a quieting than a saddening thing for her. 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 


177 


She could see now the dangers that beset 
her path in those days, the vortex of world- 
i liness into which she might have been drawn, 
the temptations to which her faith might 
have been subjected, and no wonder that 
she was grateful for her escape. No wonder 
that the ionely heart sent up many a hymn 
of thanks for its very loneliness. It was cut 
off from the giddy world ; its hopes and 
affections had nothing to do with the crowds 
peopling the fast-growing city, and so glad 
that a kind friend so ordained it, rested 
calm and secure within the arms of his 
protecting providence. These thoughts and 
feelings gave a placid sweetness to her out- 
ward bearing, which was in its way more at- 
tractive than the light-heartedness of ear- 
lier years. “ It was like the sweetness the 
maturity of sorrow gives to the Christian 
soul, compared to the sweetness of sunny, 
generous youth.'' 

Late one night, in the beginning of win- 


178 


A STRANGE VISIT.— RITA. 


ter, Margaret sat alone, bending over her 
work. Her father had been asleep for 
hours, and she remained to finish some 
work she could not do in the day. It was 
a wild night, the rain pouring down, and 
the wind wailing in the long avenues. 


Oh ! tlie sorrowful sound of the winter rain ! 
The smothered sob and the cry of pain, 

That came in the gusts of wind that kept 
Such weary vigils while mortals slept, 

On tireless wings speeding to and fro, 

A-S if pursued by some mighty woe. 

That tracked them on in their hurried flight, 
Through the long, lone, solemn hom*8 of night. 


In the lull of the storm, Margaret thought 
she heard the sound of feet on the gravel 
walk outside the windows ; then a hand 
softly trying to unbar the shutters, which 
were fastened inside. She started to her 
feet and listened, but there was notliing 
now to be heard but the wild wailing of the 
wind and the dash of the rain. But in 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


179 


every pause of those spirit-like voices, the 
same sounds came, the quick tread of feet 
without, and the vain effort to undo the 
bars ; and at last, when the wind rose 
higher, and the rain descended in greatei 
torrents, amid it all, she heard a voice call- 
ing Marguerite ! Marguerite ! There 
was but one person in all the world who 
had ever called her so. In a moment she 
was at the door, shading her lamp with her 
hand, and gazing intently into the darkness. 
From under the dripping, leafless alanthus 
trees came a woman's form. She knew it 
was Hortense, and without speaking, drew 
her into the warm room, and seating her 
before the fire, began, with tender s jlicitude, 
to undo the wet shawl that was folded about 
her. 

No, Marguerite ! I cannot stay. I 
have brought you my treasure. Take care 
of her, Marguerite ; make her like yourself, 
and do not, oh ! do not, in Heaven's name, 


180 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


let her know all her mother's hardhearted- 
ness." She lifted up her shawl, and nest- 
ling close in her arms was a child of some 
two years, sleeping as calmly and sweetly 
as if the winter storm had not been raging 
around her. Margaret was too astonished 
to ask questions. She only kissed the little 
one as Hortense carefully placed it in her 
arms. 

I have named her for you. Marguerite, 
but Louis and I have always called her 
• Kita.' She knows that name now. I 
will write to you, dear Marguerite, and tell 
you all that has happened. How is Alice ? 

And where " She hesitated, while a 

burning flush overspread her face. 

Margaret knew what she would ask. 
“ Papa is here with me. He is not himself, 
Hortense ; he will never again be as you 
knew him. And Alice is dead. Oh ! 
Hortense ! Hortense ! We have had sor- 
rowful times. I see that grief has visited 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


18i 


you too,” she said after a pause, looking 
into the thin face that had lost much of its 
dark haughty beauty. 

She clasped her hands tightly together, 
and almost shuddered ; but her voice had 
all its old calmness as she replied, ‘^Yes, 
Marguerite, and therefore I come to you. 
I am weary of life, and to-night as we 
crossed the river, and I leaned over the 
guards of the boat for a moment, to look 
at the water, I felt a strange longing to 
plunge into its sullen, gloomy depths. I 
think I should find peace and rest there.” 

Oh ! no, Hortense. Not there 1 Not 
there ! ” 

Hush ! hush ! ” she said, quickly, as 
Rita's head moved uneasily upon Marga- 
ret's arm. She will wake, and I must 
go. Good-bye, Marguerite. Take care of 
her, and may God bless and prosper you.” 

One hasty, passionate kiss on her child's 
cheek, the proud nead bowed for a moment 
16 


182 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 


in a burst of anguish on Margaret^s shoul- 
‘ieij and Hortense was gone. Out into the 
darkness and storra^ she knew not whither. 

Margaret carried Rita up to her room, 
and gently undressed her. Her clothes 
were made of the richest materials, and 
around her little plump neck, was a slen- 
der chain with a locket attached, in one 
side of which was Hortense’s miniature, 
and in the other, that of a stern, proud- 
looking man. It was, she supposed, her 
husband. Margaret unfastened the trinket 
and replaced it with a miraculous medal, 
murmuring softly to herself, She is my 
child now, and I give her to you, oh Holy 
Mary ! Let her purity and innocence plead 
for Hortense. Oh Mother ! our Mother 1 
obtain her grace.""' 

In the morning when she awoke, the 
child was playing with her long bright hair, 
which had fallen down in the night. 

Mamma ! mamma ! " she said, as Margaret 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 


183 


raised her head ; but, with a hasty glance, 
shrank back, fixing her dark eyes upon her 
with a piercing look, that made her exceed- 
ingly like her mother. No ! no ! she 
said, pettishly, as Margaret tried to take 
her in her arms ; mamma V* It was long 
before she could prevail upon her to come 
to her ; but at last it was accomplished, 
and dressing her, she went down to break- 
fast. Her father was waiting impatiently, 
and with the air of a spoiled child, asked 
what had kept her so long. 

My little pet would not get up,^' she 
said, drawing Eita from behind her, where 
she clung to her dress, peeping out with a 
wild, elfish look in her black eyes. 

Who is that ? he asked. She looks 
like some one I have seen. Come here, little 
girl, and tell me your name.^" 

I do not think she can, papa,” Marga- 
ret said. It is Eita Vonderberg, Hor- 
tense^s ch!!d,” she added, softly, with a 


184 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


quick glance at her father's face^ fearful 
that he would be startled. 

But he looked very quiet and undis- 
turbed. ^^Eita Vonderberg ! And who is 
Hortense ? " 

Do you not know, papa ? " 

No. I forget, I used to know so many 
people." 

Those years were then but a dark blot 
on the tablet of memory ! Margaret scarce 
knew whether to rejoice or grieve — it saved 
him much bitter sorrow, but it was a new 
proof of his daily increasing imbecility, and 
that was certainly not cheering for her. 
When Margaret's scholars came in, they were 
astonished to find a new playmate. Eita 
was now the youngest among them, and 
before an hour was over, she was quite at 
home in the busy little throng, going from 
one to another, peeping over their shoul- 
ders, and exclaiming at the pictures in 
their books. Mr. Hamilton was delighted 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


185 


witl her. Young as she was, there was a 
feariess look in lier eyes, and a kind of sly 
daring in all her movements which was 
very attractive. But it made Margaret 
tremble for the trust that was reposed in 
hei’. Not many days elapsed before she 
discovered that it would require all her 
strength to guide that wayward little spirit. 
The mother's strong, proud, unbending will 
was in that tiny form, with a passionate 
temper Hortense could scarce even have 
possessed. For a while, there was na tam- 
ing the wild impulses of the child. She 
would start up from a long, silent fit of 
musing, and dance about over chairs and 
tables, and finally land herself on the 
piano, or perhaps, the high back of Mr. 
Hamilton’s chair, and sit there, with her 
straight black hair dangling about her face, 
and her eyes, those dark, flashing, wilful 
eyes fixed with the most unshrinking de- 
termination upon Margaret’s grave face. 


186 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 


And often in winter, when the snow was 
falling, she would dart out into the garden 
with wonderful dexterity, eluding all pur- 
suit, and come in, her hair powdered with 
the white flakes, and her apron full of snow 
to throw in the fire, that she might hear it 
splutter. ‘^Let the child alone/' Mr. Hamil- 
ton would say ; but Margaret watched, with 
anxious solicitude, the growth of that im- 
petuous nature, and tried to subdue it. 
Gradually Margaret's gentle but firm will 
gained the ascendency, and Rita yielded to 
her almost instantly when her wishes were 
expressed. She was a hwing little creature, 
clinging with tenacity to those who watched 
over her. Mamma Margaret " — so she 
called her — was the very light of her young 
life ; and it was beautiful to see them toge- 
ther, the quiet, subdued girl, on whose fiice 
was the impress of long-endured sorrow, 
and the radiant child, all life, all fire and 
spirit. Beautiful to see thf two in that 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


187 


dim old Cathedral, bowing before the altar 
when the faint light of morning struggled 
in the windows, or the shadows of the 
evening gathered. Day after day they 
walked there, hand in hand, in the cold 
wind and rain and sleet of winter, and the 
glow and beauty of summer time, until 
Rita came to love the place with a deep, 
abiding affection. It was, indeed, the 
holy of holies,^" the dwelling-place of that 
Mighty Mysterious Father, whom she was 
learning to love with all the strength of her 
soul, whose presence filled her young mind 
with strange thoughts and desires. 

And so the years passed by. Margaret 
growing more detached from the world, and 
Rita, with eager delight, yet all-uncon- 
scious of her own work, developing under 
her care the warm, pure affections of her 
heart, and the powerful intellect God had 
given her. She had a wonderful voice, for 
one so young ; strong, and rich, and clear 


188 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


as a flute, anfl many a time in the still 
summer evenings, when she stood on the 
garden gate, swinging to and fro in careless 
glee, and singing away with the artless 
freedom of childhood, passers-by would stop 
to listen and wonder at the melodious 
strains. She was there one evening, quite 
late, when Margaret was busy with her 
father, singing as usual from the fulness of 
a happy heart. A lady dressed in black 
passed down the opposite side, paused a 
moment, and hurriedly crossed over. Pre- 
sently the astonished Kita was in her arms, 
and kisses were showered upon her face. 

Rita ! Rita ! I know it is my child. 
Look at me, Rita. Do you not know your 
mother ? 

The child gazed thoughtfully at her for a 
moment, and said, I don't know you, but 
you look like the pretty picture mamma 
Pve got. Come in and I'll show her to 

rou.'' 


A STRANGE VISIT. — RITA. 


189 


Is Marguerite home ? 

My mamma Marguerite is. Do you 
know her ? And so is papa home. Come 
in.^^ * 

No ! no ! she said, starting back at 
that. I cannot, if he is there. Tell 
Marguerite to come out."' 

Rita ! Rita ! " called Margaret from 
the other end of the long walk. Come 
in, dear, it is getting dark." 

Hottense took the child's hand, and 
led her slowly and thoughtfully up the 
path ; and when they reached Margaret, 
silently, reverently, as if she was an angel, 
knelt down and kissed the hem of her 
dress. She knew her immediately, although 
it was a strange attitude for the once 
haughty Hortense. 

“ Oh, Hortense ! I am glad to see you 
once more. Why do you act so strangely? 
Dear Hortense, get up." She put her 


190 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


arms around her to raise her from her lowly 
position. 

No, Marguerite. Not until |I have 
thanked you for all your goodness, and 
implored your pardon for all the wrongs I 
have done you."' 

Hush ! dear Hortense. You must not 
speak so. Eita, it is your mother. Come 
in."’ 

No. I will never again darken your 
home with my ill-omened presence. Look 
at me, Maiguerite, and see if there is not 
that written in my face which tells of a 
terrible tale of remorse. I have been 
frightened at my own guilt. Frederick and 
Alice ! Oh, Marguerite, but for me they 
might still have been living. And your 
father’s broken heart ! And your own 
darkened life ! 

Alice, on her death-bed, bid me tell 
you she forgave all the wrongs you ever 
did her,” said Margaret, gently. Come 


A STRANGE VISIT. RITA. 


191 


in, Horiense. Papa will not know you," 
she added, sadly. He has long since for- 
gotten all that has happened when we lived 
together."’ 

‘‘ Alas ! alas ! that is my work too, Mar- 
garet. Can you ever forgive me ? "" 

*^As freely and fully as I hope in the 
great judgment day to be forgiven my 
own transgressions,"" she said, solemnly. 

Marguerite,"" Hortense said, directly, 
once more I give you my Kita. You 
will never see me again on this side of the 
grave. Good-bye. Kiss me, Kita."" 

Their farewell was spoken then in the 
solemn, quiet starlight beneath the rustling 
leaves, their last farewell, for they met uo 
more on earth. 


hortense's letter. 


When the summer days were waning, a 
letter came from Hortense. Marguerite,’' 
it began, I will write now as I promised. 
It is of a sad yet joyful episode in my life 
I have to tell ; the joy sent from heaven, 
and the misery all of my own making. I 
shudder when I look back now to the days 
of our prosperity, and go over, one by one, 
— for I force myself to do that — the unfeel- 
ing acts, the cold, deliberate heartlessness 
of every thought. It seems almost inhu- 
man now, and but for the new faith I have 
found I would lie down and die, despairing 


hortense’s letter. 


193 


of forgiveness. Marguerite, I am a Catho- 
Ifc. I can see you as you read that sen- 
tence, the glad flush suffusing once more 
your pale cheeks, and the light growing 
deeper in your eyes, and my own heart 
grows lighter with the thought of the hap- 
piness it gives you. I have never before 
brought you any thing but sorrow. 

I married again, as you know, after 
that fatal divorce; married one who brought 
me the wealth, without which I thought lift- 
useless, a titled name, and, as I thought, 
affection enough to humor every caprice of 
mine. It was not so. He was proud and 
passionate, and would not be ruled, and I 
knew not how to yield, so we led a misera- 
ble, quarrelsome life. When my little Rita 
was born, it seemed to me the first gush of 
human feeling T had ever known flooded 
my heart, and then I thought of you. Mar- 
guerite, and all your goodness, and patience, 
and love. In my dreams I saw you, and 


17 


194 


HORTENSE^'S LETTER. 


all my waking reveries carried me over the 
ocean, and across the mountains to my old 
home in the West ; and amid the dark- 
less and desolation I had helped to bring 
there, you stood, like an angel of light, 
cheering and guiding the helpless, heart- 
broken ones I had deserted. It was enough 
to make me hate myself, and no wonder I 
tried to close my eyes to the vision of 
pure unselfish devotion that haunted me. 
It would not depart ; I was proud to see 
and think of it, and now I thank God it 
was so, for at last it awakened my soul 
from the fearful lethargy of sin and incre- 
dulity. It was in London all this hap- 
pened. I was walking one evening with 
Eita and her nurse, when we passed a 
Catholic Church. The people were crowd- 
ing in, and nurse said, ^ Please ma'am, it's 
benediction they're going to ; would you 
like to go in ^ ' 

I had never before thought of youi 


HORTENSE S LETTER. 


195 


religion as having an influence upon youi 
conduct ; my own had never interfered with 
my whims ; but now it suddenly flashed 
uj^on me that it was the stern requisitions 
of your faith that so purified you from 
worldliness and deceit. I remembered your 
refusal to marry Etienne ; your prompt, 
energetic determination to have justice 
done to Mr. Hamilton's creditors ; your 
tender care of Alice in all those terrible 
trials, Frederick's death and burial, loss of 
wealth and health ; all with lightning speed 
passed through my mind with the half-spoken 
words, ^ Marguerite is a Catholic.' We 
went in ; my servant kneeling reverently 
in the aisle, and I standing aloof, for my 
pride was not yet conquered. But as the 
sweet, plaintive voices in the choir sang to 
an organ accompaniment, and the crowd 
bent in adoration before the Blessed Sacra- 
ment, I knelt too, as if forced down by 
invisible hands. I cannot explain it to 


196 


HORTENSE S LETTER. 


you, Marguerite, but in the solemn hush 
that came upon the multitude, as the music 
died in soft cadences, and the Host was 
raised, that peace I had so long sought in 
vain stole over me. ^ It is well to be here, 
I thought ; and when it was finished, I sent 
Rita and the nurse home, and remained 
until they came to close the church. I 
stood without ; listened to the drawing of 
the heavy bolts, and then I could imagine 
how Adam and Eve must have felt when 
the gates of Eden were closed upon them. 
But the new Paradise I had found was not 
barred for ever. Day after day I returned, 
each time feeling more unwilling to leave 
the quiet, solemn resting-place, and all the 
while conviction slowly forcing itself upon 
my yet unwilling mind. I read constantly 
the books of the Church, until at last I 
dared not oppose my pride to her truth. 
It was thus, Marguerite, that I was, foolishly 


hortense's letter. 


197 


resisting grace, almost dragged into the ark 
of safety. 

‘^And then came poverty and distress, as 
if to try my new-born faith ; and in my 
tribulation I went to America, and made 
my way to Cincinnati, and gave my Rita 
to you. I had to fly again across the ocean, 
for one I dared no longer see pursued me. 
And so many weary years dragged on, 
lighted only by the faith I had given such 
tardy welcome to. Rita^s father has been 
dead a long, long while. Marguerite, and I 
am now striving to atone for a misspent 
youth. To-morrow I go to France to enter 
a convent of the Sisters of Charity. I 
have chosen this to punish the insolent 
pride of other days. Nursing the sick and 
dying, amid scenes of woe and crime and 
desolatiin, will, I hope, humble my still 
revolting nature. I only wonder that God 
has called me to it, that he will suffer one 
so vile to minister to His beloved, the poor 
17 * 


198 


hortense's letter. 


and unfortunate of earth. Do not blame 
me for leaving you now. I have consulted 
others, and, almost for the first time in my 
life, have not suffered a single thought of 
self to prevent me from following the ad* 
vice of the wise and good. Mr. Hamilton 
does not need me now, he is in far better 
hands ; and. Marguerite, I dare not again 
trust myself amid the old scenes, lest they 
might bring back the old selfish and unpi- 
tying feelings. 5fo, no ; it is best that I 
should not return to you. 

And now, Marguerite, I have but one 
thing to ask. I need not say any thing of 
Rita ; for I kn^^)W that she is very dear to 
you, and you will lead her to heaven, where 
God grant I may one day meet you both. 
My only desire is that you will pray for me, 
and never mention my name to your fathero 
You say he has forgotten me, and it is best 
not to waken memory. Do not write. Now 
that I have deserted the world, I would 


hortense's letter. 


199 


mther have no link binding me to it, not 
even your affection, dear Marguerite. Once 
more farewell, and may Jesus and His 
Blessed Mother keep you and your father 
and Rita in peace and happiness."' 

Little Rita was nestling in Margaret's 
lap, and as she folded the letter, a gush of 
tears fell upon the child's face. It was 
such an unlooked-for joy. She had, with all 
her desires, scarce hoped that Hortense 
would be a Catholic, and now grace had 
worked the miracle. She could think of 
nothing for days after but that one blissful 
piece of knowledge. If her father would 
but do likewise ! But there was little pros- 
pect of that. He was too childish and im- 
becile now to be taught what a child might 
learn. 

The glowing October was passing away, 
and as the new cathedral was to be conse- 
crated on All Saints day, the Catholics of 
Cincinnati were in a very joyful kind of 


200 


hortense's letter. 


excitement. They had eagerly watched the 
edifice, as it slowly rose from foundation to 
roof, and now were anxious to enter into 
it. Some one said to the Bishop when, 
trusting to Providence, he began the im- 
mense work, Where do you expect to find 
people to fill such a building ? It is 
almost finished now ; the beautiful cross- 
surmounted spire points up to heaven ; the 
stately colonnade surrounds the tower, and 
the broad flights of steps are daily nearing 
completion ; but in the ten years since its 
consecration, other churches, some nearly as 
large, have been erected for the crowds of 
worshippers who cannot find place in it. 

The day came at length, but in clouds 
and gloom. The rain poured in torrents, 
and yet, the faithful flocked in crowds, fill- 
ing every available spot about the church, 
until the doors were opened. Margaret, 
with Kita, passed through the Bishop's 
house, and w^ent up into one of the tribunes, 


hortense's letter. 


201 


from whence she could look down upon the 
sanctuary, and the body of the church. It 
was a sea of heads, swaying to and fro, 
parting and uniting again, like waves, as 
the long procession of ecclesiastics passed 
through. Many stood that day before the 
new altar, raised to the living God, who 
have since stood at his judgment seat — 
the Venerable Bishop Flaget and saintly 
Father Badin, those brave pioneers of the 
faith who planted the cross on the banks of 
our bright Ohio ; Archbishop Eccleston, 
and Father Ellet, whose royal majestic elo- 
quence made one involuntarily think of the 
grand old Fathers of the distant palmy ages. 
And many, too, amid the swaying crowds 
outside the sanctuary, have bowed to the 
great immovable decree. Some with friends 
and all that could make life dear ; some 
weary and worn, and glad to rest. And 
one, good, and noble, and loving the deso- 
late orphans of the Church, who have 


202 


HOR TENSERS LETTER. 


learned to bless his name, true to his 
generous nature, stood to the last on the 
deck of the Arctic, amid the helpless, and 
went down in the fathomless waters, when 
they closed above the ill-fated vessel. 

Margaret was absorbed in the ceremonies ; 
they were new to her, and very beautiful, , 
and replete with a meaning none but truly 
Catholic hearts can appreciate. Once, as 
she raised her head, she saw Etienne Lamar 
in the opposite tribune, kneeling reverentl}^ 
with clasped hands, and his eyes fixed on 
the cross they were jjlacing upon the taber- 
nacle. A little while after, she saw him 
bless himself, and then she knew he too was 
a Catholic. It was a new joy, and a glad, 
quick heart-throb sent her thanks to hea- 
ven. But it was too quiet a pleasure to 
distract her ; she did not look again ; it 
was enough to know that he was at last 
within the Church ; and when late in the 
afternoon the ceremonies were finished, she 


HORTENSE^S LETTER. 


203 


hurried out to escape the crowd, without 
waiting to meet him. 

He came a few days after to see them 
It w'as during school-hours, and one of the 
children, who had been in the garden, 
admitted him, and led him immediately to 
the school-room. He stood in the doorway 
some minutes, watching the groups before 
him. In the corner of the wide hearth sat 
Mr. Hamilton, bent down over a book, 
while a roguish, blue-eyed child, who had 
climbed up on a chair behind him, twisted 
his grey hair into fantastic curls. Margaret 
was in the centre of the room, listening to 
the recitations of a row of boys and girls 
who stood before her ; and Kita, with just 
enough of flashing light in her deep, hazel 
eyes to make them wondrously beautiful, 
walked to and fro, marshalling a younger 
set into ranks for the next lesson. Who 
is that ? ** she suddenly asked, in her clear 
voice, as she caught sight of Etienne, 


204 


hojrtense's letter. 


Margaret looked up, and the next moment 
both her hands were in his, and she was, 
with all the graceful freedom of their first 
acquaintance, welcoming him to her home. 
He sat there, the rest of the afternoon, 
with Mr. Hamilton, talking and reading 
softly to him, but glancing often at Marga- 
ret as she pursued, her duties, the old flush 
rising to her cheeks as she saw how ear- 
nest he was watching her movements. 

And in the evening after tea, when she 
had closed the shutters and lit the lamp, 
and stirred the fire into a ruddier blaze, 
they sat together, talking a little sadly of 
old times. She told him how they had first 
come to the homestead, with what sweet 
resignation Alice had died, and then ( f 
Hojtense's conversion. 

And this is her child, he said, draw- 
ing Eita from Margaret's side, where she 
always stationed herself. There is some- 
thing very like her mother in those dark 
eyes. How old is she ? 


hortense’s letter. 


205 


Just ten/' Margaret said. 

Then, I am sure, I saw both her and 
Ilortense many years ago in London. I 
was in a church, assisting at Benediction, 
and in coming out, was struck with the 
appearance of a lady kneeling in the aisle. 
She looked so like Hortense, I was tempted 
to stop and speak to her, but then thinking 
it improbable that she would be there, I 
passed on.^^ 

Yes ; it was she, I am sure,'' Margaret 
said. And have you been a Catholic so 
long ? You have not yet told me how you 
became one." 

He smiled. Can you not guess ? I will 
tell you all about it some other time. Come 
and sing for me, now." 

Oh, I only play second fiddle since 
Rita has been learning music. Come, Rita, 
I will sing second for you," 

The child sprang to the piano, and 
fluttering over the leaves of a music-book, 


206 


hortense's letter. 


until 8he found a piece she liked, placed it 
before Margaret. It was an old Gipsy song, 
which she particularly fancied ; it suited 
her rich, clear voice, and very beautiful was 
the blending in of Margaret's low, gushing 
second, with those wild cadences as they 
rang through the quaint old room. They 
sang a long time, and then finished with 
the sweet plaintive Ave Sanctissima ; for 
Margaret never suffered Kita to leave the 
piano without singing some little strain to 
the Blessed Mother, to whom she was con- 
secrated. Were Etienne's dark eyes full of 
tears that they glistened so when he lifted 
his head from his hands ? 

You have only changed outwardly, Mar- 
garet," he said, as he bid her good night. 

The old joy is in your heart, subdued per- 
haps, but still there ; the old tranquillity and 
trust in .God ; else you could not so have 
sung that beautiful hymn." 

He came very often after that, almost 


hortense’s letter. 


207 


every day, until it became a matter of course 
with Margaret's scholars to see him seated 
at the fire with Mr. Hamilton, amusing the 
old white-haired man. All winter the most 
fragrant flowers bloomed in the sunny win- 
dows. Bare southern plants, too tender for 
a northern climate, seemed to flourish in 
that warm bright spot. Etienne loved 
nothing better than to see Margaret morn- 
ing and evening bending over his beautiful 
gifts, her pale face contrasting with the rich 
hues of leaves and blossoms. She was to 
him the childish Margaret he had known so 
many years before, save that the sweetness 
of her manner had a tinge of sadness now, 
when it used to be all mirth and smiles. 
The quiet, trusting frankness, the uncon- 
cealed pleasure in his society, were the very 
game as in that first happy winter, before 
she had tasted the cup of sorrow. 

And so the winter months passed by, and 
Easter came decked in the robes of spring 


208 


hortense’s letter. 


They had been to St. Xavier's Church, as 
the old Cathedral was now called, to late 
benediction. It was one of those delicious 
evenings, when every breath of air seems 
freighted with some message from fairer and 
brighter climes ; when the starlight rests 
most lovingly upon the earth, as it calmly 
sleeps in the soft hazy atmosphere, and it is 
not hard to fancy one can see the leaves of 
tree and shrub expanding every moment. 

Do not go in, Margaret, it is so delight- 
ful here," Etienne said, as they entered the 
long avenue. They walked up and down 
the many winding ways, Eita, who was, as 
usual, with them, dancing before and sing- 
ing some merry carol. 

Mr. Lamar," Margaret said, after a 
lo^ig silence, you promised to tell me how 
you became a Catholic ; will you not do it 
now ? " 

Yes, Margaret : you have a right to 
knc'w, for, next to divine grace, you were 
the means of making me one." 


hortense’s lettek. 


209 


I ! ” she exclaimed, in utter astonish- 
ment. 

YeSj and very unintentionally — quite 
as much so/^ he added, with a smile, ^^as 
you captured my heart once upon a time. 
Margaret, you were so very different in those 
days from any I had ever met, for I had 
never been much in Catholic society. With 
all your gayety, there seemed to be a deep, im- 
movable repose about you, as if you rested 
on something more than worldly prosperity, 
or human affection. I can understand it 
all now — I can feel how the glorious invis- 
ible society, amid which we Catholics live, 
creates an atmosphere around us which is 
incomprehensible to those who do not enjoy 
it ; but then, Margaret, it was an enigma to 
me ; and my curiosity to discover why you 
were thus, was so aroused, that I deter- 
mined to gratify it at all costs ; and after 
the last terrible scenes in Hortensia's house 
— forgive me that I recall them — I went to 


18 * 


210 


hortense's letter. 


Europe, knowing just enough of Catholicity 
to long for a deeper knowledge. Then 
Margaret it was that your image fled ; then 
as I saw more and more clearly the severe 
majestic beauty of the Church, unscarred by 
persecution, unsullied by sin, I forgot the 
human love that first led me to seek her. 
The years since then have been very happy. 
I have had an object to gain, an aim for all 
my endeavors. When I returned to Cin- 
cinnati last fall, I heard for the first time 
of your misfortune, and also your self-for- 
getting devotion. Margaret, I have told you 
all, there is but one thing more I must add 
before we part to-night. There is no longer 
the bar to our union you once spoke of, we 
kneel now at the same altar. May we not 
labor together in this life to attain the more 
perfect one hereafter ? 

Margaret did not speak, but bent her head 
upon the hand that rested on his arm. It 
was very sweet to be loved, very like a warm 


hortense's letter. 


211 


gush of the old earthly happiness coming 
back again. She had lived so long detached 
from others that the very novelty was fasci- 
nating. And there was no harm in yielding 
to it ; not a shadow of wrong in suffering her 
heart to admit that sweet human affection ; 
and for a while all the brightness of the 
])ast flushed over her path^ lighting up with 
a transient flush of glory, the soft twilight 
that had long hovered over it. Only for a 
little while. When Etienne spoke to Mr. 
Hamilton of his wishes, the childish old 
man said he would never consent. 

Margaret ! Margaret ! You told me 
you would never desert me,"^ he said pit- 
eously to her. 

She shall not leave you, Mr. Hamilton,*' 
Etienne said, I will come here, and live 
with you.** 

No ! no ! I do not want you, Margaret 
must not marry. Promise, dear, that you 
will not ! What can Rita and I do with 
out you ? ** 


212 


hortense’s letter. 


He grew so excited, the very thought 
seemed to trouble him so much, that she 
promised what he asked. Etienne in vain 
tried to reason with him, to persuade 
him to consent ; his answer was always the 
same. Always a closer clasp of his child^s 
hand and an imploring look. iShe could not 
resist. Margaret will not marry.'^ 

And so the last glimpse of mere earthly 
happiness faded out. Etienne went away 
sad but resigned, and then the calm cheer- 
fulness she had kept up for his sake, forsook 
her for a while. Little Rita wondered why 
she knelt so long at her chamber window 
the night he had told her good-bye, wondered 
why her face was so pale, and her slender 
hands were so tightly clasped together. — 
She was looking out through the jessamine 
vines on the cloudless sky and the moonlit 
garden, and "when the child fell asleep the 
long pent-up tears rained down. Some- 
thing almost like a reproachful cry to Heaven 
rang in her troubled heart ; .but it was 


HORTENSE'S LEITEK. il3 

quickly silenced, and after one pash) uate 
burst of grief, she was again the quiet, 
unresisting Margaret, she had been for so 
many years ; bowing humbly to the good 
pleasure of God, sweetly kissing the hand 
that smote her. It was another white fra- 
grant blossom of resignation placed in the 
crown angels were weaving for her. 0 faith- 
ful heart ! Most beautiful was thy perfect, 
childish abandon ! But, like the patriarch 
of old, it was only a willingness to give up 
that which was dearest which was asked of 
her. Mr. Hamilton the next morning, as 
if totally unconscious of his opposition of 
the previous night, said gaily, when he saw 
Etienne coming in, 

Margaret ! I wonder why you and Eti- 
enne can't make a match of it. I think 
you would be such a fine-looking couple. 
Mr. Lamar, don't you think my little Madge 
is beautiful ? " 

Etienne, with a quick smile flashing over 
his face, took the astonished girl's hand ; 


214 


PIORTENSE’b LETTER. 


Most beantifiil, indeed, but far better 
than beautiful. May I have her, Mr. Ham- 
ilton ? I will not take her away ; I will 
live here with you.'" 

Why, that will be delightful ! Marga- 
ret, let us have the wedding this week.” 

Scarce knowing what she did, she said, 
“Yes;” and quite satisfied that he had 
settled the matter, Mr. Hamilton went to 
take his walk in the garden. “ Come, dear 
Margaret,” said Mr. Lamar, with a happy 
laugh, “ you must not recall that little 
consenting ^yes.^ We must take your 
father at his word, or he will be enacting 
over again the scenes of last night.” 

And so it was arranged. They were 
married very quietly ; and much to the 
astonishment of fashionable friends, who 
again began to flock around them, they re- 
mained in the old homestead. Hut the 
school was broken up ; “ for,” said Eti- 
enne, “ you have labored too long already 
Mai’garet, and now that you belong to me, 


HORTEN SE^S LETTER. 


215 


1 must take care of you, and make you 


It will be twenty years next New-Year*g 
Eve, since Mr. Hamilton and Hortense, 
Margaret and Etienne, Frederick and Alice, 
sat in the stately mansion on Fourth Street, 
talking of the future and the past. Little 
they then thought of the storms that 
awaited them, or the dark, lonely paths, 
through which they were to be led ; little 
thought Hortense — proud, selfish Hortense 
Hamilton — that she would one day be a 
Sister of Charity, walking calm and faithful 
amid scenes of suffering and carnage. She 
is one of those whose zeal in the Crimea is 
winning deathless laurels in heaven. 

There will be another wedding at the 
old homestead on New-Year's Day ; our 
little Rita, now a gifted woman, will ydedge 
her faith to one worthy of the trust. These 
changes of twenty years 1 The homestead 


216 


hortense's letter. 


is not the same ; a grand aristocratic mam 
sion has been erected on the north-western 
portion of the large park-like enclostire, 
and on the side facing the south a row of 
dwellings shuts out the sunshine from the 
school-room windows. And when Margaret 
sits there now ami^ her own children, only 
fche sunset gleam rests on her head like a 
halo, and lends her sweet face the dazzling 
lightness of long ago. Seven-and-thirty 
her next birth-day ! One would scarcely 
believe her that, for she is still beautiful, — 
still young in heart. It will never be other- 
wise with her, for peace has shaded hei 
with its wings, and the passing days but 
bring her nearer to her home. 


THE END, 


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Pome:, Its Churches, Charities, and 
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LL.D too 

Podrigaez^s Christian Perfec’- 
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Pule of Life. St, Liguori, 40 

Sure Way or,. Pather and Son. 2o 

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Spirit of St. Liguori 7^ 

Nations of the Cross. 14 Illustra- 
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Spiritual Maxims. (St. Yineent do 

Paul) 40, 

Saintly Characters. By Bev. Wm^ 

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Seraphic Staff 25 

Manual ^*11^ cts, to 3 00 

Sermons of Father Burke, plain, 2 00 

gilt edges 3 OO 


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Publications of P. J. Kenedy, 5 Barclay St., N. Y. 
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Shipwreck. A Tale 50 

Savage^ s Eoems 2 OO 

Sybil : A Drama, By John Savage. . *. 75 

Treatise on Sixteen Names ef 
Ireland, By Bev* J. O’Leary, D.D. . , 50 

Two Cottages. By Lady Fullerton. . 50 

Think WeU OnH. Large type 40 

Thornberry Abbey. A Tale 50 

Thi^ee Eleanors. A Tale 75 

Trip to France. Rev. J. Doneian.. 1 00 
Three Kings of Cologne 30 


Universal Header 50 

Vision of Old Andrew the 

Weaver 50 

Visits to the Blessed Sacrament. 40 


Willy Beilly. Paper cover 50 

Way of the Cross. 14 Illustrations. 5 

Western Missions and Mission- 

aries 2 00 

Walker^s Dictionary 75 


Young Captives. A Tale 50 

YoutlTs Director 50 

Young Crusaders. A Tale. 50 


Catholic Prayer Books^ 25 ct.«.,50 ct.?., ‘up to 12 CO 
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